


The Rule of Insanity

by Elucubrations



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Dependant Relationship, F/M, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Psychological, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:46:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 88,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elucubrations/pseuds/Elucubrations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule." - Friedrich Nietzsche. Dean Winchester, newly diagnosed as criminally insane, has been assigned to Balt's Psychiatric Hospital. There's one small catch: he's not mad. Not yet. Not now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And So It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 'Inertia Creeps' by Cennis. (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6306269/1/Inertia-Creeps)  
> Check out my page at fanfiction.net! https://www.fanfiction.net/~tiichan17

Dean Winchester was not insane. Or in any case, he didn't feel as if he was.

 _And yet here you are,_ he thought to himself, stepping through the tall, wrought-iron gates of Balt's Psychiatric Hospital. He forgot to take his one last look at the outside world before they slammed shut behind him.

Dean's guard tugged at his elbow, urging him forward. Dean followed, lest his already throbbing wrists chafed even more against the handcuffs.

 _They better take these bloody things off when we get inside,_ he thought waspishly.

Walking up the drive towards the large building, Dean looked around curiously. It wasn't how he'd imagined a mental hospital would look. It was a nice old place in the countryside, possibly some old manor house that a lord or whatnot had left to the state. The gardens were well-kept, and it looked almost picturesque in the bright mid-morning sunshine – though Dean still got a little nagging feeling that the garden wasn't used by anyone for anything other than show.

As Dean and his tiny entourage approached the front entrance, he noticed there were people waiting for them on the small porch.

 _You, Dean_ , he reminded himself, _they're waiting for you._

There was a tall, imposing man with the darkest skin (and most upright posture) Dean had ever seen. They weren't close enough for his face to be seen as of yet, but Dean could extrapolate an expression of haughty professionalism from his pristinely pressed two-piece suit.

Next to him stood a woman of average height. Her hair was a nondescript brown and pulled back into a tight bun. She, too, had the painfully strict posture of one with a hot poker up their nether regions. Dean could already predict that she, the black guy and himself were almost certainly not going to get along.

As soon as Dean's eyes slid over to the figure beside the woman, he breathed a mental sigh of relief.

_Thank God. There's at least one human in this place._

The third was slouching gloriously, hands in the pockets of his white coat, though he hurriedly pulled them out when the woman turned to talk to him. He was short, possibly a bit too short, but Dean was too grateful for his being relatively normal to care much. He wouldn't need to take part in much neck-crick inducing conversation here, anyway.

"Welcome," the tall man stated as they finally reached the building. Dean was amazed: he never would have guessed that one person's voice could be so deep.

The tall man was addressing his guard – _of course,_ Dean thought as he rolled his eyes – as he went on:

"I am Raphael Balt, overseer of Balt's Psychiatric Hospital." His eyes finally wandered over to Dean. "I take it you are Mr Winchester."

"No, actually, the name's Bruce Wayne," Dean quipped, flashing his trademark cheeky grin.

No one so much as smiled except for the shorty, who quickly transformed his snigger into a cough, looking sidelong at the woman standing next to him.

"Amusing," said Raphael Balt, looking like he'd found Dean's joke anything but. He turned to his colleagues. "These are Dr. Naomi Balt and Junior Doctor Kevin Tran. They will be the ones primarily responsible for you during your stay."

Dean appreciated that he didn't say 'life', even though they amounted to the same thing.

"Dr. Balt is the senior doctor in this establishment. You may approach her with any queries or worries you may have." Raphael's speech sounded mechanical, rehearsed – but that could have just been his charming personality. "Mr Tran will be your Group leader for your time here. You will get to know them both very well, I am sure."

Dean was not so certain, if he had any say in it, but decided it would be best to keep his trap shut. Who knew what torture instruments they had in the basement, after all?

"I'll leave him with you, then," said Dean's guard, reaching into his pockets for the keys to Dean's cuffs. Even while Dean rejoiced at being freed from the damned contraptions, he felt the inexplicable sense of dread that every child on their first day of school knows well. Suddenly, he didn't really want the guard to leave.

 _Stop being ridiculous,_ he chastised himself. _You've never even said a word to him._

"Yes," Raphael said. "Thank you for your time."

The guard nodded, before turning and walking back to the van.

Dean looked up at Raphael (whose height was only emphasised by the fact that he was standing two steps up from Dean) and felt slightly nervous. He certainly _looked_ like one of those evil slave drivers who used his patients for boxing practice.

But then Dean looked at Kevin Tran and felt better. If that midget had survived long enough to become a junior doctor and could still laugh at a bad joke, Dean would be fine.

Raphael opened the large front entrance and motioned for Dean to follow him inside. He did so, followed by the doctor lady whose name he'd already forgotten (apart from 'Balt') and Kevin Tran.

"I am afraid I will have to leave you here," Raphael said monotonously. "I am very busy."

Dean just nodded and attempted a smile, trying to will down his heart rate.

 _There's no reason to be so friggin' nervous, Winchester,_ he told himself. _You haven't seen any thumbscrews yet._

Raphael inclined his head coolly and opened a door on the left side of the reception area, disappearing from sight as it shut.

Dean turned to look at the woman, who still looked as stern and stiff as ever.

"I will conduct a tour to show you around the hospital," she said, a wooden smile gracing her lips, "and then Kevin will show you to your room in the ward."

"Okay," Dean said, not really caring. He'd get to know the place by himself in time.

Naomi (as her name badge reminded Dean) led him through endless corridors, pointing out rooms and offices, while Dean blanked it all out, listening to the syncopated rhythm Naomi's, his and Kevin's shoes made on the wooden floor.

clackscuffclacktapscufftapclack

"...this is the recreation room, where..."

scufftapclacktapscuffclacktapscufftapclack

"...and through here we have the..."

tapclackscufftapscuffclacktapscufftapclackscuffclacktapscuff –

"...and now I shall hand you over to Mr Tran. Good morning." Naomi bobbed her head in a strange, formal way and clacked off.

"So..." Dean said slowly as her footsteps faded into the echoes of the corridor. "This is...cool, I guess?"

Kevin smiled, and it was the first real smile Dean had seen all day. "Yeah, sure. Don't worry, once you get used to the food, you'll be fine," he reassured him.

Dean widened his eyes in genuine alarm. "The food's bad?"

"Not really." Kevin shrugged. "I dunno. It's just different. Tastes a bit...odd, you know? Like plane food. But you get used to it after a week or so. Come on, I'd better show you to your room before a warden appears and thinks you're threatening me or whatever."

Dean's smile froze on his face, and Kevin's expression morphed into one of mild horror. "Crap!" he groaned. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting myself. It's so bad, you have no idea. I did work experience in a...uh, normal hospital before, and I haven't quite mastered the little things yet. I keep on making stupid jokes."

Dean shook his head, though his smile had disappeared. "No worries, man. But you should be careful. With people crazier than me, it could be one stupid joke between life and a shiv through the neck."

Kevin scoffed, starting to walk along another corridor. "Don't I know it. That's why they've put me in charge of the less volatile patients. A screw-up's not so serious then, at least not physically. But it's never a good thing to bring up...those kind of incidents around here."

Dean nodded. "Right." Inside, he was wondering (seeing as he was grouped among the 'less volatile' ones) what the hell the _volatile_ patients had done.

"Okay!" Kevin chirped, grin back in place. "This is your room. 107. They're a bit cramped, and they get locked automatically after ten, so make sure you're in it by then, else you'll be spending a night in the rec room. And let me tell you, that couch does not look comfy."

Dean smirked obligingly at his joke. The kid was really a decent guy, and his young age reminded him of –

Nope.

Not going there.

"I guess I'll introduce you to your neighbours now," Kevin said cheerfully. Dean suppressed a groan. "Patients are put in groups according to their volatility, and each is supervised by a suitably qualified member of staff, though you're not separated from other groups or anything. My group's four now; we'll introduce you to them all in the meeting today. But right now, your room's in between Andy and Castiel's. I think they're in the rec room..." Kevin strolled off to find them. Dean followed.

They turned left and stepped into a large room with sofas, tables, exercise machines and a crappy-looking television. There weren't many people in the room: twenty, possibly twenty-five.

"There aren't as many patients as I was expecting," Dean mentioned to Kevin, mildly surprised.

"Some people are still in their rooms or finishing breakfast, but yeah, we're a pretty small hospital. It's better that way – we get more money that we can spend on facilities rather than food and water bills, you know?"

Dean made a noise of affirmation and looked around for anyone foaming at the mouth or muttering manically to himself. The closest he found to the latter was a skinny, pale man with a large nose and a larger smile, who was happily chatting to a sock puppet.

All in all, it really wasn't everything the movies cracked it up to be, Dean thought.

"Ah, there he is. Hey, Andy!" Kevin called.

A man with brown hair and a scruffy stubble turned. He grinned when he saw Kevin, but when his eyes turned to Dean they took on a curious note, with the tiniest hint of mischief behind it all. The man sauntered over, catching the leg of an angry-looking guy on the way. Dean would have shat himself at the glare the guy shot Andy, but the cheerful man just grimaced apologetically and said, "Sorry, dude. I swear, some days I don't think these feet are even mine."

The grumpy man just grunted and turned his eyes back to the grainy screen of the television.

"Hey, Kev!" Andy said upon reaching them. He gestured to Dean. "This guy the fresh meat?" He had a strange glint in his eye, though Dean couldn't exactly place it as malevolent.

Kevin laughed, and Dean tried not to clench his fists. Two seconds, and this Andy bloke was already getting up his nose.

"This is your new neighbour, Dean," Kevin said, still chuckling slightly. "Dean, this is Andy. He's in 106. Hey Andy, you happen to know where Castiel is?"

"Castiel?" Andy scratched his head. "Geez...last time I saw him he was still in the canteen. Maybe you should check there."

"Yeah, we'll do that, thanks." Kevin grinned at Andy in farewell and strolled out of the rec room.

"See ya 'round, Dean!" Andy called after them. Dean forcibly stopped himself from cussing in reply.

"Well, he's a...character," Dean understated, still feeling the tendrils of irritation that a minute conversation with the man had sown into him.

"Yeah, everybody likes Andy," Kevin said. "He's the socialite of the ward."

"He in your group?" Dean asked.

"Nah, Camael's got him. For some reason, the doctors classed him as more dangerous than you lot. I can't really say anything about it, though, I'm not allowed to see his file. Also data protection, but yeah."

Dean nodded, silently relieved. Any habitual contact with the guy probably _would_ send him stark raving; it was bad enough that they were neighbours. Though Kevin did seem to like the guy, so he might not have been all that bad. Maybe he was like the food, and just took some getting used to.

_Yeah, right._

Dean only hoped this Castiel would be more bearable.

The walk to the canteen wasn't very long, and just before they pushed through the swinging doors, Kevin stopped, carefully extending an arm before Dean and taking care not to touch him. Dean looked at him curiously. "Yeah?" he prompted.

Kevin grinned sheepishly. "I should probably warn you beforehand..." he began slowly.

 _Oh Christ,_ Dean thought with dread. Whether or not the doctors' diagnoses had been correct, Dean would certainly be curly as a fruit loop with _two_ nutters as neighbours. He mentally scoffed at himself. What had he expected his ward-mates to be? He was in an _asylum_.

"Castiel...doesn't talk much. Or at all, really. The most I've ever been able to get out of him is a nod, and I see him every day. So don't take it personally if it strikes you as a bit rude. Actually, while you're here, it'd be best to take nothing personally," Kevin amended.

"Okay," Dean said simply, relieved that the most note-worthy aspect of Castiel was mutism. He couldn't be unbearable if Kevin only thought it necessary to warn Dean _not_ to expect nauseating amounts of inane conversation.

Kevin pushed the doors open and they walked through. The canteen was fairly empty, though there were some small chatting groups dotted around at various tables and a couple of solitaries, either finishing their food or staring at nothing in particular.

Kevin led him to one of the loners, a dark-haired man with five o'clock shadow. His scrubs were a bit big, hanging off his shoulders slightly, and his face somehow told Dean that Castiel had been in this place for a very long time.

"Hello, Castiel. This is Dean; he's moving into 107."

Castiel looked up and glanced at Kevin before his eyes slid over to Dean, who had to blink a few times to stop his mouth falling open.

Castiel had _the_ bluest eyes Dean could recall seeing, in real life or on television; he reckoned he could safely bet they were the bluest eyes in existence. They weren't particularly light or particularly dark, but they were clear and piercing. Dean felt as if his soul was being evaluated through his own green irises.

Castiel looked back to Kevin, and the momentary spell was broken.

"Dean, this is Castiel," Kevin added unnecessarily.

"Nice to meet you," Dean said weakly, holding out a hand before remembering how physical contact was generally viewed in these places and retracting it awkwardly.

Castiel did not give any indication that his greeting had been heard, and merely turned to gaze at him again with those alarmingly vivid eyes.

"Um, yeah," said Kevin, breaking the silence. "So, Castiel, if you just look out for Dean, make sure he's settling in alright...show him where places are if he gets lost...yeah, that'd be great. I'll see you at today's group meeting, okay?"

Castiel nodded, and Kevin and Dean were dismissed.

"I feel like the new kid at elementary school," Dean commented as they walked back, theorising that now he was a mental patient he may as well say exactly what he liked, "with the teacher making friends for me."

Kevin didn't look offended, which Dean appreciated. "It is a bit patronising for some, but other patients really benefit. It helps them integrate better and feel comfortable faster."

"So you do this with all the patients?" Dean asked. "Even the angry ones?"

"Oh, no. The violent patients are kept in relative isolation until their supervisor and Naomi agree that they're ready to be introduced to the other inmates."

Dean made a non-committal noise and followed Kevin down a corridor he hadn't really registered before. "This is this way to the laundry room," Kevin said. "We need to get you your scrubs."

Dean nodded, silently lamenting the inevitable loss of his own clothes. How long would it be before he could wear jeans again?

Kevin opened a cupboard in the laundry room and riffled through stacks of shirts and trousers.

"What size are you?" he called to Dean.

Dean told him, and eventually Kevin found him two items that fit. "You can get changed in your room," he told him. "I really should've got you to do that first, to avoid the other patients seeing you as so much of an outsider...but to be honest, it's unlikely to make much of a difference."

Dean silently agreed, thinking of how out of place he already felt among all the crazies. He could only hope it would get better.

He found his way back to his room without problem, Kevin excusing himself with the reason that he needed to fill in a few forms now he'd 'settled' Dean. Dean just nodded and went on his way, avoiding eye contact with as many people that he passed as possible.

Finding the door to 107, Dean turned the handle and stepped inside. It was fairly small, but had a passable amount of room. There was a severe lack of furniture and decoration, but Dean had expected that. There was a bed in the far corner with simple white covers, a bedside table with a special lamp (the bulb was completely enclosed within the plastic shade – to prevent people from breaking and making a weapon out of it, he supposed) and a small wooden chair. Directly opposite the bed was a small set of shelves, securely nailed to the wall, which Dean assumed was for books. There was an empty wardrobe, which at a closer look revealed itself to also be bolted to the floor, which was completely bare of any carpet or rug. A small door next to the shelves led to a bathroom, Dean guessed.

Looking at the room, Dean's hands started to shake as he realised he was in a glorified prison where people were paid not to piss him off and not to touch him. He was never going to get out. From now on, his nights were going to be spent staring at the empty ceiling, trying to forget the familiar, horrible images racing through his mind. His days would be monotonous, all the same, and he would be alone. For the rest of his life.

Dean felt tears spring into his eyes, and he rubbed at them with his trembling hands, frustrated. He was not going to break down, damn it. Not now, not ever. He would keep his head high and be on his sanest behaviour until he was pronounced able to go into the public and released.

That was what he would do.

Unable to hold them back any longer, Dean allowed the tears to slide down his cheeks and drip onto the bare, wooden floor. He went over to the bed and sat down, holding his head in his hands.

It wasn't fair.

One time.

Just once.

Wasn't his own conscience punishment enough? Wasn't the knowledge of the disappointment and resentment _he_ would feel towards Dean enough?

Why him?

A knock on the door made Dean jump, and he hurriedly wiped the tears off his face. "Yeah?" he called, voice sounding normal.

The door opened to reveal Andy.

_Oh, for fuck's sake._

"Hey, man," Andy called cheerfully. "Kevin stopped me on the way to his office and asked me to tell you we have group meetings at three every day. Your group meets in Room 79. And then lunch is at one, dinner at six. Alright?"

Dean nodded silently, clenching his fists behind his back.

Andy didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. "Hey, d'you wanna go to the rec room? It's more fun there, and I can introduce you to everyone else!" He looked too excited at the prospect.

Dean shook his head. "No thanks, dude. I still need to change, and I'm pretty tired."

"Oh yeah, nearly forgot about that." Andy grimaced sympathetically. "Enjoy wearing normal clothes while you can, man, you have no idea how sick you get of these pyjama things."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Dean said drily.

"Well, just remember to take your own clothes down to Naomi when you've finished. She'll put them somewhere in case you ever get released..." Andy suddenly burst into a fit of giggles.

Dean stared at him, alarmed.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," Andy said between chuckles. "It's just – why bother, you know? Like we're ever gonna get out of this place." He shook his head amiably, wheezing slightly, and shut the door.

Dean stared at the closed door for a few moments before tutting and beginning to strip off his clothes.

_Creep._

He was thankful to find that the pyjamas were not scratchy, as he'd been expecting, but the prospect of spending the rest of his life in them nevertheless filled him with dread. Shrugging it off, he grabbed his own clothes and set off down the hall to find Naomi.

After ten minutes, he realised that the hospital was a lot bigger than he'd remembered, and that he _really_ should have paid more attention while Naomi had been showing him around, never mind that her voice set him on edge. He couldn't even find the way to the staff offices.

He rounded a corner that he was certain he'd seen at least twice already and nearly walked straight into Castiel.

"Dude, watch where you're fucking going!" he snapped before his brain gave his mouth permission.

Castiel blinked, and stepped back nervously, before walking past Dean as quickly as he could.

Without thinking, Dean reached out to catch his hand and was promptly shoved away, hard enough for him to stumble into the wall.

"Hey, no, wait!" he called, slightly desperate. Making bad impressions was not what he had been wanting to do today.

Castiel stopped, thankfully, and looked warily back at Dean.

"I'm sorry, man, it just slipped out. I'm not actually mad at you, I just...can't always control my mouth." Dean looked hard at the floor, feeling very uncomfortable.

He was met with silence, as he had been expecting, but when he looked up, he found that Castiel's eyes were slightly more gentle, more understanding.

"We okay, then?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded once.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Great. That's great." As Castiel started to walk away, though, Dean called him back again. "Hold up! Castiel! I kinda need your help with something."

Castiel looked at him curiously.

"I'm supposed to give these," Dean held up his clothes, "to Naomi, but I have no idea where she is. Could you maybe help me?"

Castiel nodded again, though slower this time, apprehension evident on his face.

"Thanks, man," Dean told him gratefully. "Sorry if you don't like her," Castiel's expression prompted him to add.

Castiel looked at him in confusion, as if to say _what would make you think that?_

"You look reluctant to go see her," Dean explained. "If you like, you can just show me her door, and I can handle it from there."

Castiel shook his head, his face brightening as he evidently had an idea, and motioned for Dean to follow him. They made their way down a set of corridors and crossed through the main hall that Dean had first seen upon entering the place.

"So the left side of this place is for staff, and the right for patients?" he asked his guide. Castiel nodded.

The door leading to the left wing was shut, but this did not seem to surprise Castiel. He pressed a button on the intercom next to the door three times, one long, two short.

" _Coming_ ," the crackly speakers said.

A moment later, the door was opened by a middle-aged woman with a stern, but kind-looking face. "Hey there, Castiel. What brings you here?"

Castiel motioned to Dean, who took it as his signal to speak. "Uh, I'm supposed to give these clothes to Naomi," he said hesitantly, holding out the bundle of fabric.

The woman nodded her head in understanding. "Right, okay. You'd be the newbie, then. Dean, isn't it?"

Dean nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Ellen. I guess I'm a sort-of door keeper for the staff, but I do other things too. You'll see me serving in the canteen most days. Now, how's about you give those to me, honey? Naomi's busy a lot of the time, and y'all patients aren't really supposed to enter the left wing without an appointment anyway."

Dean handed her the things. "But what if there's an emergency and we really need to see someone?" he asked.

Ellen levelled a look at him. "Then you make an appointment, lovey, or try and stop them in the corridors when you see 'em. Don't try bending the rules around here, or your free movement rights'll be revoked and you'll only be able to go to your room, the rec room and dining room."

Dean blinked. "Duly noted."

"Good. I'll see you two boys at lunch, then. Take care, Castiel, Dean." She shut the door.

"...wow," was all Dean could think to say afterwards, prompting a curious look from Castiel. "She's...surprising. Nice, but strict. Also scary. But I think I like her."

Castiel nodded, and Dean could have sworn there was just a hint of a smile playing about his mouth.

"Thanks for showing me here," Dean added, "I appreciate it, especially since I was so much of a dick to you."

Castiel shrugged and walked back towards the patient wing, beckoning to Dean. As they strolled towards the rec room (or at least, that's where Dean assumed they were going), Dean said, if only to break the silence, "Andy said we have a group meeting or something at three."

The other man wrinkled his nose, and Dean stopped for a second, surprised that he could make such an expression of comical distaste.

Castiel, realising he was walking alone, turned around, and the expression on his face was such a perfect mix of curious and slightly bemused that Dean started laughing. Five seconds later though, and he'd got a hold on himself, now just smiling at the blue-eyed man who looked completely lost.

"Sorry," Dean said, "you just don't look like the sort of person who'd make a face like that."

Castiel looked sheepish.

"Do you not like the group sessions, then?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head, but his expression conveyed something different.

"So you don't? Or you do?"

Castiel gave him a frustrated look.

"Ah, geez, okay! Do you hate the group sessions?" Dean asked clearly.

Shake.

"Oh, right. Why the face, then?"

Castiel put on an all-suffering expression.

"For God's sake! Can't you just write it down?!" Dean asked, equal parts exasperated and amused.

Castiel glared at him suddenly, all joking disappeared from his body language. Dean was startled. He couldn't think how what he'd said could have offended the man.

"Hey, I'm sorry. But why are you mad? I wasn't making fun of you for not being able to talk," Dean reassured him.

If anything, Castiel's expression grew darker, and Dean hastily ran all his comments through in his mind, combing through them to see which part of his words had made Castiel angry. Then he realised.

"Oh, I see! It's not that you can't talk, it's that you choose not to. And if you've chosen not to talk, then writing stuff down kinda defeats the entire point."

Castiel looked surprised.

"Didn't think I'd get it, huh? Well, despite appearances, I'm actually pretty intelligent. And I've had a lot of practice reading people since..." Dean trailed off, throat tightening and muscles stiffening as he forgot to stop himself from remembering.

_I should have seen I should have noticed I should have helped I should have done something anything what have I done why couldn't I see it's all my fault all of it I let it happen I did it I did it I did it_

Suddenly, Castiel was before him, not touching him, but securing Dean's attention anyhow. His eyes dragged Dean's away from his own clenched fists, which in turn relaxed. Staring into the ridiculously blue eyes of Castiel, Dean breathed more easily.

There was no sympathy in Castiel's gaze, merely patience and a tinge of worry. Even though there was no contact between them, Dean felt as if hands were holding his own, as if a downy, all-encompassing cocoon were protecting him from the detrimental thoughts.

"...thank you," Dean croaked, not even completely sure why he was thanking the other man.

Castiel stared at him a second longer, and then smiled, so softly that Dean would never have noticed it if he hadn't been staring transfixed at his face. When Castiel smiled, it made him look younger, happier. Dean smiled with him, and it was his first smile in a long time that hadn't been actively placed there. He was getting lost in Castiel's eyes, and it wasn't in the soppy, romantic sense. It was slightly scary, if anything, how the piercing blue grew and grew and swallowed up the rest of his sight until, before he knew it, he was counting the individual flecks of light in his irises.

Castiel broke the eye contact, and suddenly Dean was wrenched out of his little world of sapphires. It felt not unlike being doused with a bucket of ice cubes.

Castiel turned and made his way down the corridor, evidently expecting Dean to follow him, which he did. They walked to the rec room in a slightly awkward silence, though Dean suspected he was the one who felt the discomfort most acutely.

Upon entering the room, they were immediately met with Andy yelling, "Dean! There you are, man, we've been looking for you!" Dean had no idea who 'we' included, but he had a suspicion it was just Andy. "C'mon, I wanna introduce you to the guys. 'Scuse us, Cassie." He winked at Castiel, who did not react at all.

"Cassie?!" Dean had time to yelp before he was tugged away and shoved in the face of the guy with the sock puppet.

"Garth! Here's the newbie we saw earlier. Dean. He's in Kev's group."

The skinny man's already large smile widened. "Nice to meet you, Dean! _Yeah, nice to meet you!_ " he mouthed badly, working the mouth of the puppet open and closed.

"Uh...hi," Dean said, unsure of what exactly to do.

" _I'm Mr Fizzles,_ " said 'Mr Fizzles', " _I'm sure we'll get along just great. Must say, Dean, you're a real looker._ "

Dean's choked a little, and Andy sniggered irritatingly.

"Mr Fizzles! That's not polite, you can't hit on people with literally the third sentence you say!" Garth scolded his puppet, smacking it playfully on the nose. "Anyway, I'm sure he doesn't date puppets. You're gonna have to wait until another ventriloquist comes along."

" _Aw. Cockblocker._ "

Dean just gaped until Andy pulled him away to introduce him to the next person.

"This is Benny," he said, pointing to a solid-looking man with stubble. "Benny, this is Dean, the new guy."

Dean didn't appreciate Andy's constant emphasis on his newness.

"Hey Dean, good to meet you," Benny drawled in a husky Southern accent.

"You too," Dean returned, glad to see that this one at least seemed more normal.

"Right, next!" Andy chirped.

Dean sighed all-sufferingly, and Benny chuckled in sympathy. "Yeah, he did this to me too, man, no worries."

"Andy, will you stop pulling the poor guy around by his arm? It's gonna fall off soon!" a red-headed girl shouted across the room.

"Shut it, Charlie! You're just jealous because you didn't get charge of him from Kev!" Andy yelled back.

"Since when did you get _charge_ of me?" Dean asked, two pushes away from being seriously pissed off.

"See?" The girl marched over. "You're gonna make him angry, like you do with everyone."

"I never make anyone angry!" Andy gasped, shocked and horrified.

"Sure," the girl said patronisingly, a jokey spark in her eye. "I'm Charlie, in case you're deaf," she addressed Dean, holding out her hand. "I'm in Kevin's group too."

Dean took her outstretched hand, thankful that she wasn't overly-concerned about whether he might have issues with skin contact. "Dean, but I'm pretty sure you knew that already," he chuckled, eyeing her up. She was pretty hot, if a bit dorky-looking.

"In case you're wondering, I'm a lesbian," Charlie told him pointedly.

Dean huffed. "Seriously? Just my luck."

Charlie laughed. "Yeah, it gets pretty desperate around here. I swear, there are so few chicks in this place, and all of them say they're not interested. Like hell," she scoffed. "Who could resist this?"

Dean shook his head. He liked her, though now he thought about it, definitely more in a sister way.

 _Trying to replace him already?_ a traitorous little bitch of a voice whispered in his head. He shut it up with a mental punch.

"C'mon, Charlie, it's getting awkward now," Andy grumbled. "No one wants to hear about your lack of lays. Every other straight guy's in the same boat, remember?"

"Screw you, Misery Balls," she replied cheerfully.

"Yeah, yeah...come on, Dean, I still need to show you –"

"Just leave him alone, Andy, for God's sake! Did _you_ feel like talking your first day?" Charlie demanded.

Andy shut up for the first time.

"There we go. You'll get a chance to meet everyone in your own time, Dean," she said warmly, then lowered her voice. "One word of warning, though. I wouldn't try to get too well-acquainted with Gordon over there." She motioned with her chin to the far corner of the room where the guy that Andy had tripped over earlier was sitting. "He's not very sociable, and you're more likely to get acquainted with his fist, if you know what I mean."

"Right, thanks," Dean said.

"No problemo!" she sang. "Hey, are you any good at crosswords? Because I've been stuck on this one for ages. I tell you, if it was on a laptop, I'd be able to do it in minutes, it just lets my brain juices flow, see? But now, with actual _paper_..."

Dean spent the next few hours until lunch chatting to Charlie and Garth (and Mr Fizzles), who had joined them in trying to solve the puzzle.

It was only when he stood up to walk to the canteen with the others that he realised he had no idea where Castiel had gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Kevin had been right, was Dean's train of thought as he tucked into his first meal at Balt's. The food did taste a bit...off. It wasn't bad, per se, but it was strange. Different.

Food in Dean's stomach made him feel better, though, so he kept eating.

It was sausages and mash today, which according to Mr Fizzles was pretty good, but leagues below the chicken. Garth had disagreed, and the two had had a mini-domestic and were currently 'not talking'. Charlie had just rolled her eyes at him behind Garth's back.

"I swear, sometimes I almost forget Mr Fizzles isn't an actual animate thing," she'd whispered to Dean as they queued for their serving.

Dean had laughed quietly, and stepped up to hold out his plate to Ellen, who dumped an extra-large serving of mash onto it. "Enjoy, honey," she'd said, "and don't expect special treatment all the time. This is just 'cause it's your first day."

Dean had assured her he'd try his best not to become too spoilt and went to sit with Charlie, Garth and (to his annoyance) Andy. He'd rubber-necked around the room looking for Castiel, but the other man obviously hadn't entered yet, so he let it go.

Seeing Benny walking in their direction, and returning the grin flashed at him, Dean was surprised when the Southerner walked past their table to sit by himself. He was just about to call him over when Charlie shook her head at him.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "It's not because he doesn't like us that he sits alone, he just doesn't want to get too friendly with anyone in particular."

"Why not?" Dean asked, bemused.

Charlie grimaced. "You know, Benny is a really nice guy, a really, really good person...but he's got the biggest anger issues I've ever seen. One second he's all grins and jokes, the next you've made a wrong move and had your nose shoved through your brain."

Dean blinked, shocked.

Charlie seemed to notice. "Yeah, he doesn't seem like the type, right? But that's how it is, and Benny knows it, so he keeps to himself. He used to have a girlfriend in here, Andrea. She was the sweetest girl. They were really close, and the staff advised against it, but he ignored them and one day...yeah. He just lost it. He's never overestimated his self-control since," Charlie finished, looking grave.

Dean was mildly horrified. He knew it was going to take a while before he could listen to everyone's tale without judgement. While he didn't blame Benny, could see exactly how out of his control the situation had been...yeah. He probably wouldn't try desperately hard to secure a relationship between them.

Dean caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked to see Castiel walking solemnly to a single table, tray in hand.

"Hey, would you guys be too offended if I ditched you?" Dean asked quickly, before he could think about it too much. "I kinda want to talk to Castiel."

They looked surprised, even Charlie. "Castiel?" Andy asked incredulously.

"Have you got a problem with him?" Dean asked, trying not to sound too defensive.

"Nah, man, of course not!" Andy quickly denied. "It's just...he's not really the talking type. I'm surprised you two hit it off so quick is all."

Dean nodded and stood, picking up his tray and walking to where Castiel sat.

"Hey, I'll see you in the group meeting!" Charlie called after him. "Room 79, three pm, okay?"

"See you there," Dean called back.

Castiel looked surprised when Dean sat down opposite him, blue eyes round and bright.

"Hey, man," Dean said softly. "You looked a bit lonesome by yourself, so I came over. That and Andy was pissing the hell out of me just by breathing."

Castiel blinked, then smirked, inclining his head as if to say y _ou, too?_

"Hey, the dude's almost insufferable, am I right? He's so...social," Dean said, unsure of how to say what he meant.

Castiel seemed to understand him, nodding in agreement.

"Why does everyone seem to like him?" Dean continued. "Are we the only sane people here?"

Castiel gave him a strange look. Dean sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes hard. "God, of course. Sorry. I keep forgetting, you know? I don't _feel_ mad!"

Castiel shook his head in a way which implied that he didn't either, neither did anyone else here, and that it didn't seem to make any difference to their fates at all.

"You don't mind me talking to you, right?" Dean asked, deciding he should make sure. "Even when I say stupid shit like that? I don't want to make a pain of myself. It's just everyone else wants to chat all the time, but with you I can be quiet. Calm. Try and get my head around this whole fuck-up."

Castiel nodded, understanding, but again no sympathy was present in his expression. Dean appreciated it.

"So you don't mind?" he asked tentatively.

Castiel shook his head, wholly serious.

"Great. Thanks," Dean said, smiling in relief. "Really."

Castiel just went back to his plate.

They spent the next fifteen minutes in a comfortable silence, only punctuated by the unavoidable noises of eating.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said spontaneously around his last mouthful of mash.

Castiel looked up, surprise prominent in his eyes.

Dean blinked, before realised what had Castiel confused. "Oh, right. I'm gonna call you Cas now. No offence, but Castiel's a bit of a mouthful. D'you mind?"

A slow shake of the head.

"Great. Anyway, Cas, how long have you been here?" Dean asked, curious.

Castiel paused for a second, a frown creasing his brow, and shrugged.

Dean's eyebrows travelled up towards his hairline. "What, you don't know?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Dude, that sucks," Dean exclaimed, wondering at exactly how long Cas must have been in the goddamned pyjamas. "Don't you remember anything before you came here?"

Another shake.

Dean stared at the table in silence, sadness seeping through the shock that blanketed his mind. "Do you even know how old you are?" he asked.

Shake.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Shit," he commented, and wisely decided to drop the subject. "So hey," he said, overly brightly, "you're in Kevin's group thing, right?"

Castiel nodded, looking relieved at the topic-change.

Dean grinned. "Yeah, me too."

Castiel smiled wryly. He'd figured it out already, evidently.

"What's he like then, Kevin?" Dean continued. "Seems nice, but a bit too young for this place, don't you think?"

Castiel shrugged nonchalantly, effectively conveying that it had nothing to do with him.

"Not too fond of poking into other people's business, huh?" Dean teased, smirking.

Another smile and shake of the head. Dean liked it when Cas smiled. He endeavoured to keep it there for as long as he could.

"Damn, I'll have to find someone else to gossip with," he joked, winking before he could stop himself. What was wrong with him? He was practically flirting with the guy. It made Dean slightly uneasy, ironically, that he was so comfortable with Cas already. "Is there anyone you hang out with often?" he asked, trying to distract himself. He reckoned he could guess the answer anyway, but...

Predictably, Castiel shook his head.

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose in a mockery of a chuckle. "Don't you get lonely?" he asked, before realising what had just left his mouth and clenching his fists to avoid punching himself in the face.

Castiel had frozen at Dean's question, and the guarded glare on his face made Dean want to cut out his own tongue. What the hell was wrong with his mouth? He was crazy, not possessed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he said hurriedly, "I just can't imagine keeping to myself so much. I'm pretty social, you know? Not like Andy, hell no, I just had friends...out there..." he trailed off. "Well," he said briskly, shaking it off. "Not anymore."

Castiel's glare softened into a slightly concerned frown, prompting Dean to go on.

Dean sighed. "After all the shit that happened...I don't expect they'll want to see me again, let alone make the effort to visit." He had no doubt about that, faceless memories or not. Though now he thought about it...why couldn't he remember their faces?

Cas nodded in understanding, looking sober. He didn't press for more detail.

Dean really liked him, he realised. He liked him a lot, never mind that the man hadn't said a word to him. He was surprised and not a little worried that he had become so fond of a stranger so quickly, but he supposed he needed some form of emotional support.

Castiel inclined his head towards the door and stood up, picking up his plate and cutlery. Dean quickly followed suit and did the same, stacking his plate on top of Castiel's and throwing his cutlery in the bucket of soapy water next to the door. He walked alongside Castiel to what he assumed was going to be the rec room. However, he was proven wrong when Castiel walked past the door and headed towards the dorms instead.

Cas stopped outside Room 108 and opened the door before promptly walking inside. Dean hesitated, unsure as to whether he was to follow or not. Cas looked back at him expectantly, though, and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Are you sure?" he asked warily. Castiel only shot him a raised eyebrow. "I mean, this is kinda the only space we have to ourselves..." Dean broke off lamely. He already sounded stupid, even without the end of the sentence.

Castiel rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed, bouncing experimentally a couple of times before motioning for Dean to sit on the chair that was the exact replica of the one he had in his own room.

Dean did as Cas asked and sat, noticing the book on the bedside table. He picked it up.

"Hey, Quantum Theory," he noted. "Very sophisticated. But that reminds me – where do I get books? I'm not much of a reading person, but I guess I should take up the hobby to avoid dying of boredom."

Castiel shook his head more emphatically than usual and took the book from Dean's hands, opening it to the title page. In the top right-hand corner was a name, written in blue ink.

_Kevin Tran_

"This is Kevin's?" said Dean, confused.

Castiel nodded.

"He lent this to you?"

Another nod.

Dean frowned. "Couldn't you get it for yourself?"

Cas bit his lip, shaking his head.

The creases on Dean's forehead deepened. "So what? Are we not allowed books?"

A shake.

Dean was stunned. "What?! That's crazy! The hell's the shelf for, then?"

Castiel shrugged.

"That's messed up," said Dean, blinking as hard as he was thinking. "Fuck're we supposed to do all day?" Surely it would be in a mental hospital's best interests to keep its patients occupied?

Castiel only looked at Dean solemnly, his eyes perhaps a shade darker than normal. Dean felt a deep unease in the pit of his stomach. The longer he spent in this place, the stranger things he discovered. How long would it take before he found something that had no possible explanation, that really would send him off his rocker?

He wished Castiel would talk to him, tell him about this place properly. Why the hell wouldn't he talk, anyway? If he would, maybe Dean wouldn't feel so alone.

He was suddenly angry. Why should he feel alone? Why should he have been shoved into this place anyway? Why any of it? Why him?

"You know what?" he snapped suddenly. Castiel looked up sharply. "Screw this. This whole hospital thing is crazier than any of its patients, and that's saying something. And you – _you_ are fucking weird, you know that?!" Dean was shouting now, leaning right into Cas' personal space. "All creepy with your starey eyes and stupid not talking! All of you are fucking weird! Stay the fuck away from me." He stood up violently, knocking over his chair and feeling a small amount of satisfaction at the clatter it made when it hit the floor. He stormed out, not looking back. Castiel didn't try to stop him.

Dean had sort of hoped he would.

* * *

It was 2:59 pm, and Dean Winchester was wandering down a corridor full of Number 80 rooms, searching for 79. He'd spent the last hour or so in his room, staring at the empty bookcase and brooding. The more he thought about it, the stranger everything seemed. TV in the rec room, but no PS3? No computer access? No fucking _books_? Weights and a running machine, but no place outdoors to actually play sport?

 _Everything is just slightly out of place,_ his mind whispered.

Dean did feel slightly guilty for how he'd blown up at Cas, who really hadn't done anything, but not enough to do anything about it. After all, he figured, if he was doomed to a life of loneliness, why not go the whole hog?

He turned around the corner and finally spotted Room 79. A squirrelly-looking man with shifty eyes and nervous hands was entering. Dean followed, and found Kevin in the room, pulling five plastic chairs into a circle.

"Hey, guys!" he called cheerfully. "Right on time. Look's like we'll have to wait a bit for Charlie and Castiel, though...Dean, have you met Chuck yet?" He motioned to the nervous guy.

"No..." Dean said slowly, wondering if the man was going to wet himself.

"Uh, ah...hey. I'm Chuck," said Chuck, twisting his hands together. Then he shook his head hard, once. It looked like a spasm. "No, wait, you know that already. I'm sorry. Uh, sorry I haven't been out much. I don't...uh, like people. That much," he finished, staring at Dean wide-eyed as if he was going to eat him for having social anxiety.

Dean just smiled easily. "No worries." He did wish the guy would calm down a bit, though. His blatant terror at meeting a new face was putting Dean on edge.

The door opened, and Dean didn't even have to turn around to know who yelled "'Sup, bitches!" at the top of their voice.

Kevin sighed. "Charlie, you know I'm not supposed to let you swear..."

"Whoops, sorry, Kev!" Charlie sang. Dean was pretty sure she'd done it on purpose, just to tease.

"That's what you say every time," Kevin pointed out, confirming Dean's suspicions.

Charlie smiled sweetly. "In my defence, I do try," she lied shamelessly.

Then Castiel walked in, and Dean hurriedly became engrossed in a particular mark on the floor.

"Great, Castiel's here," Kevin said, sounding relieved at the end of his and Charlie's 'conversation'. "Let's start."

They all sat in the circle of chairs, and Dean tried not to roll his eyes at how pre-school this all was. He supposed he'd have to get used to it.

"Right," Kevin said when Charlie had finished shuffling about deliberately in her seat. "I think you've all met him by now, but for formality's sake, this is Dean, the new member of our group."

Charlie grinned cheekily at Dean, who smiled weakly back, carefully avoiding Castiel's eye.

"Dean, do you wanna tell us anything about yourself?" Kevin asked, crossing his ankles.

Dean blinked. "Uh. What kind of stuff?"

"Anything you feel comfortable sharing."

"Though it'd be nice of you to tell us how you got here," Charlie added. "Put an end to all the rumours."

Kevin glared at her. "Charlie! What part of what _Dean_ feels _comfortable_ with do you not understand?!"

"Sorry, Kev." She didn't look it. "You too, Dean," she said, slightly more remorsefully.

Dean knew she'd meant no harm. "Nah, it's okay. My name's Dean Winchester, I'm from Lawrence, Kansas. I like classic rock, Chevys, and pie. And I guess I'm here because I beat the crap out of some random guy and the police enquiry led to a shrink," he stated frankly.

"Why'd you beat him up?" Charlie leaned forward in her chair.

"Charlie!" Kevin looked ready to scalp her. "For the last time!"

"It's fine, Kevin," Dean assured him. "I can't really remember why," he told the rest of the group, feeling slightly awkward, but figuring that as he was in the lowest-danger group, it couldn't be too bad. "I suppose that's why the shrink came in. I was just angry, I guess."

"Why?"

"Charlie, one more and I'm going to ask you to leave," Kevin warned.

She rolled her eyes. "He's fine with it Kevin, cut me some slack!"

"Yeah, I don't care," Dean affirmed. "I was angry because...I...something happened..." Dean trailed off, face blank.

Kevin stepped in. "Right, and that's the limit of Dean's comfort zone. Charlie," he said pointedly, "why don't you tell us about yourself now?"

As Charlie huffed and sighed, Dean was desperately racking his brains. He realised that the rest of the group thought he had stopped because he didn't want to reveal such personal information, but the real fact of the matter was that Dean couldn't quite _recall_ the personal information. Why couldn't he remember?

Charlie finally started speaking. "Well, most people know already, but for Dean, I got depression, tried to top myself multiple times, failed multiple times, got sent here once and for all. The end." She looked at Kevin provokingly. Kevin just set his jaw, tried not to smile, and turned to Chuck.

"I...uh, I guess you'll want me to go? Next, I mean," the man said hesitantly.

"Not if you don't want to," Kevin reassured him.

"No, it's okay. Um, well, you can probably see I'm not exactly comfortable around people. But a while back I started having these, uh, really weird dreams. They wouldn't stop, and I, er, started losing time and then I did stuff I couldn't remember and...yeah. The medication helps, though." He smiled wanly.

Kevin nodded comfortingly. "Thanks, Chuck. Do you want the others to tell Dean what they know about you, Castiel?" He smiled at the remaining member of the group, who shrugged unconcernedly.

This prompted Charlie to begin to fill Dean in on what was public about Castiel. Dean listened avidly.

"Yeah, Castiel's been here for ages – no one really knows how long. Not even you, huh, Castiel?" Castiel shook his head. "Anyway, he's been here longer than everyone else. There's a theory going round that he was the very first patient at Balt's. As long as I've known him, though, Castiel hasn't got involved in any trouble, like the other older patients do. Unless you count his refusal to talk to anyone, even the staff. That gets frustrating sometimes," she teased Castiel, who let the corner of his mouth quirk upwards just the tiniest amount.

Dean nodded, trying not to look disappointed that he hadn't been told anything new.

"Well, I guess it's my turn, then," said Kevin, adjusting his coat. "I graduated from Yale early and decided I wanted to go into psychiatry. Got an internship here, and I guess when I have enough experience and funds I'll open a hospital of my own. It's sort of been my life's goal," he admitted. "My mom always used to say hospitals were the greatest thing humanity ever invented."

Dean tried and failed to suppress his grin while Charlie aww'd.

"That's so cute, Kevin!" she exclaimed. "Even though I knew already. It's still cute."

Kevin shot her a look. "Thanks, Charlie. Might I remind you that I am staff, and you are a patient. We're supposed to be keeping a professional distance in our relationship. Calling me cute does not fall under 'professional distance'," he said grouchily, looking very endearing indeed.

Charlie laughed until tears came into her eyes. Even Chuck smiled a bit.

Dean, on the other hand, was distracted, namely by Castiel, who was watching Charlie laugh and Kevin telling her 'authoritatively' to calm down. He had a contented, almost fond look on his face, and Dean kicked himself for managing to fuck things up with someone so kind _again._

Suddenly, Castiel glanced at Dean, who hurriedly stared at the floor again. He could feel Castiel's eyes boring into the side of his head, and cursed himself as his cheeks grew hot. He wondered why he was acting like a prepubescent girl.

After nearly bursting into laughter outright, Kevin remembered himself. "Crap, we were supposed to do life goals today!"

Dean snorted before he could stop himself, and Charlie rolled her eyes.

"Oh, c'mon, Kevin!" she grumbled. "You know we hate all that crap Naomi tells us to whine about. We all know we're never getting out anyway."

 _There it is again._ Dean just couldn't comprehend how all the patients were so acceptingly void of hope. Charlie's expression hadn't even changed.

Kevin seemed subdued as well. "You shouldn't talk like that," he said quietly. "It's detrimental to your recovery."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Right. Our recovery. _What_ recovery, Kevin?! Because so many people have recovered, let alone been released! Even the staff here are stuck – when was the last time someone managed to hand in their notice here?"

Kevin paled, and his expression set into one of more anger than Dean had thought possible. Behind his eyes was a touch of fear.

"Okay, Charlie, that's it," he stated, not even a hint of a smile in his voice. "I don't know what's wrong with you today, but you can deal with it in your room. Group dismissed, this conversation isn't going anywhere anyway."

Charlie did look genuinely apologetic this time. "Kevin, I'm sorry..."

"I know." Kevin smiled weakly. "Now get out, all of you."

"Great," Charlie said to Dean as he shut the door behind them. "I've pissed Kevin off...again. I don't mean to, he's just so sweet when his buttons get pushed."

"Whatever you say," Dean said indulgently.

"I should've just let the getting out thing go, though," she continued, gnawing her lip. "I think I really upset him this time. I know he's planning on making his own hospital, but the longer he spends here, the less likely it gets. And he knows it." Charlie sighed worriedly. "The worst thing is, I'm sort of glad he won't be able to get out. He's the best doctor – or trainee, whatever – that we've ever had."

Dean was going to answer, he really was, but then Castiel passed them in the corridor and Dean was too busy making sure he didn't look to formulate a reply.

Charlie eyed him suspiciously. When Castiel was out of earshot, she tugged on Dean's sleeve to stop him and demanded, "Okay, tell me what happened."

Dean stared at her. "What?"

"Don't play stupid with me, punk, lunchtime you were practically drooling over him, but now you're avoiding each other like the plague. Please, as if there wasn't enough gossip about you already."

"What do you mean?" Dean was confused.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Right, and here comes the obligatory no homo. Save it for the straight people, Dean, I'm not buying it."

Dean choked. "You think I – with Cas?! I've known him for less than a day!"

"Oh, please. I'm not one of the idiots who swear you guys have screwed already ..." Dean spluttered. "– I'm just saying you want to."

"I'm straight!"

"Yeah, sure. Straight as Naomi's back. But whatever, what happened?" she repeated.

Dean shook her off. "Nothing. We're not gonna hang around each other full-time."

Charlie smiled superciliously. "Mm hm. Right. So that's the reason you two were playing eye-footsie during the entire group meeting. I bet Kevin's writing a report on it right now."

Dean gave up. "Okay, fine, we had a falling out. I was a complete douchebag, end of."

"Go apologise, then," Charlie ordered, as if it were obvious.

Dean shook his head. "No way, I don't do apologies."

"Bull."

"Yeah, yeah, but still: it's the second time I yelled at him in one day. I didn't even have a reason. Surely he's gonna be better off not dealing with my shit."

Charlie exhaled heavily through her nose. "Dean, look. People here have anger issues. That's just how it goes. Castiel's not going to stake you – at least, not in _that_ sense – but he's not going to approach you out of his own volition either. He's chronically shy, and if he thinks he pisses you off, he'll avoid you. So you have to go explain."

Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. "If I go and make up with him, it'll just happen all over again."

"Well, it will if you think like that!"

"Yeah, so I'm screwed!"

"Dean, I have bets on this, and –"

"You have _bets_?!"

"So does everyone! Mr Fizzles went crazy! The point is, this is the most excitement we've had in months, Castiel included. I haven't seen the guy look so comfortable around anyone, even people he's known for years. So if you screw it up, you screw him up. Even more. And I can already see you screwing yourself up. So there. Incentive," she finished, challenging a retort from him.

"Charlie, I'm not going to prostrate myself in front of some dude I've known for half a day just because you have a vested interest," Dean told her bluntly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd quite like to see what channels you can get on the TV."

He walked away.

"You'll cave!" Charlie called after him. "I haven't seen so much eyesex between two guys for years!"

Dean rolled his eyes and kept walking.


	3. Chapter 3

On his second day at Balt's Psychiatric Hospital, Dean woke up with a pounding headache, feeling far more tired than he had the night before.

"Shit," he muttered, cradling his skull and wondering whether any of the staff would deign to giving him an Ibuprofen. He doubted it.

Heaving himself out of the creaking bed, Dean staggered to his small en suite bathroom and turned on the shower to give it time to warm up. It groaned like a mating camel. Dean ignored it and splashed his face with cold water from the sink, grabbing his toothbrush and looking around for the toothpaste. Scrubbing his teeth methodically, Dean stuck an experimental hand under the shower head. He winced; still freezing.

After finishing his teeth, rinsing out his mouth more thoroughly than strictly necessary, relieving himself and attempting to fix his hair without a mirror, the shower was finally warm enough for Dean to step in.

The water pressure was shitty, but that had been expected, and Dean made the most of it. He washed his hair with the dull-smelling shampoo that everyone used and soaped himself down. While rinsing off the suds, he tried to will away his headache, without much success. Sighing and giving up, Dean stepped out of the shower before either the bathroom around him became completely obscured by steam or he used up the whole dorm's supply of hot water and got murdered.

He grabbed the towel from its hook and dried himself off. It was a decent towel, he allowed. A bit small, but what was he expecting? Scrubbing at his hair, Dean stepped into his bedroom and wondered for how long he was expected to wear one set of pyjamas. His questions were answered when he saw a scrap of white fabric peeking under his door. He opened it a crack and snatched up the clothes.

 _If this is how it works, the hell do we need the wardrobe for?_ he asked himself, scowling at the useless pieces of furniture that seemed to become more and more numerous the longer he thought about it.

He got dressed quickly, hearing people exiting their rooms and hoping he wasn't about to miss breakfast. How the hell was he supposed to be on time if he wasn't allowed a fucking clock?

Poking his head out of the door, Dean was immediately ambushed by Andy.

"Hey, Deano!" came the cheerful greeting.

Dean sighed. "Hey," he replied unenthusiastically.

"Since you don't know the morning routine yet, I thought I'd show you the ropes," Andy explained, tugging Dean by the arm down the corridor. "Every morning, we get a new set of clothes outside our doors. Don't ask me how they get there, but I've got my money on fairies." Dean rolled his eyes. "Anyway, we put our old ones in the big baskets in the laundry room. That's where everyone's going now, see?" Andy pointed out unnecessarily.

Dean followed Andy to the laundry rooms and dumped his clothes in the basket. He slightly pitied the person that would have to do this mountain of washing and ironing.

"And now for breakfast! It's usually sort of a buffet thing, so you can choose what you..." Dean blanked out the rest of Andy blabbering and made for the door, the other man following close behind. His stomach was nagging at him to give it something to digest, and he wasn't about to deny it.

In the canteen were large plates of toast, bacon, eggs and rolls, as well as cereal and tureens filled with soup and porridge. Dean raised his eyebrows. If this was anything to go by, breakfast was soon going to become his favourite meal of the day.

Joining the queue waiting for their turn, Dean hoped to God that Andy would see someone else and latch onto them instead. No such luck.

"So, Dean, rumour has it you killed someone. I'm not dumb enough to believe that, you'd no way be in Kevin's group, but I gotta say I'm curious."

Dean glowered at him. "I already told Charlie," he told Andy defensively.

Andy looked hurt. "What? You told her and not me? Screw that, you told her and _she_ didn't tell me?!"

Dean gritted his teeth. "It was a group talk kind of thing."

"So Chuck knows too? Dammit, why am I always last?" Andy moaned.

"Andy, you're never last to know anything," a dry voice from behind them said.

"Oh!" Andy turned around, startled. "Hey, Alfie." He turned to Dean. "Dean, this is Alfie. He's the supervisor of my group, and he was stupid enough to volunteer to line-manage breakfast time."

"It's nice to meet you, Dean," Alfie said, smiling. "Kevin says your first day was alright?"

Dean paused. "Uh, yeah, it was okay," he said finally.

"Great," the slight man said pleasantly, before the smile dropped off his face and he groaned. "Oh, wow. Gordon's starting a fight again."

Dean turned and saw the terrifying man bearing down on some poor sap who had dared to jump the queue.

"Aren't you gonna do something?" Andy asked Alfie, looking on unconcernedly.

Alfie shook his head. "The orderlies have noticed already. Anyway, I might be stupid enough to volunteer for this, but even I'm not about to march in and break up one of Gordon's fights by myself. Sure-fire suicide method."

"True," Andy agreed.

Dean watched as two orderlies dragged Gordon away from his target, hissing and spitting as he went. "Is this a common occurrence?" he asked.

"Yup," Andy and Alfie said simultaneously.

"Okay." Dean stepped forward to pick up a plate and cutlery. He decided to keep to the unspoken queueing rules during his stay at Balt's.

For his breakfast, Dean stuck with a roll and a mug of lukewarm tea to chase away his headache. Unfortunately, Andy wouldn't shut up (not even when his mouth was full) and the throbbing wouldn't go away.

While he was eating, Dean gazed around at the other patients, studiously ignoring Andy. Benny was in the same corner as the day before, munching on cereal and looking half-awake. Chuck was at the next table with Garth and Charlie, who waved when she caught his eye. Two dark-haired women that Dean vaguely recognised were chatting at the table by the window, and Castiel was consuming his food as solemnly as he did everything else.

Andy either didn't realise or didn't care that Dean wasn't following his monologue at all, and kept chatting banally away, only pausing to shovel spoonful after spoonful of baked beans into his mouth. Dean really wished he could like the talkative man as much as everyone else seemed to, but frankly, his voice just grated on Dean's nerves.

Presently, the line for the buffet died down and Alfie came like a godsend to distract Andy's attention. The two chatted away about football, Alfie telling Andy all about Nebraska's latest win. Dean took his opportunity to leave, shoving the last piece of roll into his mouth and gathering his crockery. He dumped it on the table next to the door and left to check out the rec room without people breathing down his neck.

Upon entering, Dean realised he was always going to have at least somebody monitoring him; he'd forgotten that there were always at least two orderlies on the ward at any one time, to keep an eye on the patients and restrain them if any got out of hand. The orderlies on duty ignored Dean as he walked in, both laughing at some joke.

Dean dithered for a bit, considering the television, but deciding to try out the workout equipment instead. He figured he may as well get in shape now he had enough time to do so.

He hadn't been on the bench press for anything over five minutes before a shadow fell over his face and he looked up to see Gordon looming over him.

Weren't they supposed to keep patients in isolation for a bit after they started making trouble?

"That's mine," Gordon said threateningly, narrowing his eyes to slits.

Dean debated holding his ground, but the unhinged glint in the huge man's eyes put paid to that.

"Whoops, sorry," he said, hurriedly getting up. "Had no idea." He made a beeline for the door, feeling Gordon's eyes boring into his back all the way.

The orderlies still weren't taking any notice of them.

Just as he was about to leave the room, the door opened and Castiel nearly walked straight into him.

Stumbling back a few steps in surprise and swearing under his breath, Dean sidestepped him hastily and escaped, ignoring the alarmed look in those blue eyes as Castiel registered the reason for Dean's hurried exit.

Unsuccessfully trying to think up other forms of entertainment that didn't involve the rec room as he hastened down the corridor, Dean groaned aloud, positive that he'd have to set himself on fire if he didn't find something to do during the long days at Balt's. He wondered whether Kevin would be willing to lend him books as well. It didn't even matter what kind of books they were at this point; Dean would go for anything.

Thankfully, it didn't take too long to find the guy, and after shushing him frantically when Dean made his request a little bit too loudly, Kevin acquiesced.

"I'm really not supposed to," he made very clear, "but it's insane not to give you any way to entertain yourselves. All it's gonna do is make everyone antsy and ready to fight one another."

Dean agreed wholeheartedly and replied with "Anything in English," when Kevin asked him what type of book he'd like.

Kevin thought for a bit before saying, "Do you like mystery?"

Dean didn't particularly, but nodded anyway.

"Okay, I have a few Agatha Christies. Naomi would incinerate me if she found out I was giving you books with murder in them, no less, but whatever. It's better than the Millenium trilogy."

Dean smiled and pretended he knew what Kevin was talking about. At least he knew who Agatha Christie was.

"Castiel likes non-fiction, mainly," Kevin chatted amiably as they walked towards the staff wing together. "It's good for him, because I have no end of the stuff. Charlie used to read books online too, but now I think she's more interested in playing online poker."

Dean was surprised. "Internet? I thought patients weren't allowed computers or anything."

Kevin grimaced. "They're not. I lend her my laptop when I can. Charlie loves technology, and her condition would be a lot worse if she were denied it. The higher-ups refuse to acknowledge it, though, so I'm forced to break the rules. Again." Kevin sighed. "I'm amazed I haven't been fired yet, actually."

Dean chuckled. "Thanks for going to all this trouble, Kevin," he said warmly. "I appreciate it, and I'm sure everyone else does too."

"They better," was Kevin's joking reply.

They stopped outside Ellen's door, and Kevin said, "You'll have to wait for me here. I'll be back in a sec."

Dean nodded and waited.

When Kevin came back, he was carrying two medium-sized books.

"Here." He handed them over with a smile. "Take a look, see if you like them, and then I'll take them to your room in case someone else on the staff sees you. You don't mind me going in, right?"

Dean considered. "Nah, it's okay. But hey, Kevin, what do the other patients do with themselves? It's been a single day and I'm ready to eat my own tonsils."

Kevin looked torn between laughing at Dean's metaphor and being sympathetic. He settled for a gentle chuckle. "Yeah...they mainly talk, I guess. It's really beneficial in that sense, but with all the other cons...yeah, well, I'm not in charge."

Dean nodded. "What do the people who don't feel much like talking do?" he asked.

"Well, Castiel reads," Kevin mused, looking up at the ceiling as if the plaster would remind him of the detail. "Sometimes he plays a card game or two with Chuck, but that's not a common occurrence, seeing as neither of them are amazingly social. Gordon just works out all the time, which is slightly worrying, but no one's brave enough to take away the equipment. Chuck...I don't exactly know what he does. He stays in his room a lot. I think he writes stuff, because he asks me for pens every now and again. I usually have to say no, because...well, pen. Chuck isn't always aware of his actions, and sharp pointy things are never good with that. But yeah, that's pretty much it. Why, do you not like the patients?" he asked Dean, professional interest apparent on his face.

Dean wiggled his hand in the air. "Eeh. It's not that I don't like them – well, most of them. Some I really don't like. But no, I just don't like the idea of having to be around other people all the freaking time. It's tiring, y'know?"

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, I understand. Andy especially I can imagine being a bit much 24/7, nice guy though he is."

Dean nodded ambiguously. He wasn't about to say that he found it hard to be around Andy for seven minutes without a break.

"Anyway, we'd better get back to the patient wing before someone sees us and Naomi starts grilling me about forming special relationships with patients." Kevin rolled his eyes and started walking. Dean followed. "I swear, every time I talk to one of my group when I don't legally _have_ to, I get The Lecture. Sometimes I think she does it just to wind me up, but then I look at her face, and she's dead serious. Every time." Kevin suddenly remembered himself. "Oh for God's sake, here I go again. Gossiping about the other staff with a patient. One day I'm gonna get sued." He looked weary.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not about to tell anybody, dude. She is a bit of a...stick in the mud."

They reached the door to the rec room, and Kevin shooed Dean inside. "Go on, be social for at least a bit. Don't forget the meeting at three."

"Like I ever would." Dean muttered as he walked through the door. He glanced warily around the room for Gordon, who was still lifting weights and didn't seem to notice Dean's entrance at all.

Dean looked around to find someone to sit with. He saw Garth and Mr Fizzles having a conversation and was about to turn the other way when he saw Andy advancing upon him.

"Hey," he said, his voice rather higher-pitched then normal as he sat down hurriedly next to the skinny man with the puppet.

"Oh, hey there, Dean!" Garth said, looking ecstatic to see him.

" _'Sup, Gorgeous?_ " Mr Fizzles asked.

Garth fixed the sock with an exasperated stare, and Dean shifted awkwardly, unsure what to do. "Uh, hi, Mr Fizzles?" he said at last, trying to stop seeing the puppet as a separate entity from Garth.

" _You're looking mighty fine this morning, I must say._ "

"Right, Mr Fizzles, that's enough." Garth sat on his hand. Mr Fizzles let out a few muffled shouts before falling silent. "Sorry about him. What's up, Dean?"

"Nothing much, just bored to tears," Dean said nonchalantly. "Where's Charlie?"

Garth chuckled. "In her room, surfing the web, I bet. Kevin loaned her his laptop after breakfast to make up for the little falling out they apparently had yesterday."

"Oh, I see." Dean nodded. "Hey, do you know how to play poker?"

" _I do!_ " came a stifled cry from underneath Garth's skinny butt.

"Sorry, Mr Fizzles, I need two hands to play. You're gonna have to nap for a bit," Garth informed him, removing the sock and folding it tenderly on the cushion next to him. He turned to Dean. "Right," he said happily, "you wanna bet anything or what?"

After a good few hours of playing poker with Garth (the man was a lot better than Dean had expected – his constant happy grin was surprisingly effective as a poker face), it was almost time for lunch. Garth put his hand face down on the table and stood, picking up Mr Fizzles. "C'mon, Dean," he said, "Let's go get a good spot in the line."

Dean agreed and the two made their way down to the dining room, chatting about nothing much. Dean had found out during the course of the morning that Garth was also in Alfie's group, and had been at Balt's for a little over two years.

"I didn't use to like it here much at all," the man told him, "but it got better. Especially after Charlie came. She's real good fun."

" _Yeah, nice girl,_ " Mr Fizzles added. " _Lot cleverer than she lets on._ "

Dean hummed in agreement, thinking about how insightful Charlie was for someone in a mental asylum.

Lunch was spaghetti with chicken that day, which Mr Fizzles was ecstatic about. Ellen gave them both steaming platefuls and told them to "eat it quick before it gets cold".

Dean was busy doing just that (and Garth was trying to stop Mr Fizzles from stealing his chicken), when Naomi entered the canteen. Judging by everyone's surprised expressions, this was not a common thing. As the stern woman saw Dean and began to walk to his table, Mr Fizzles and Garth stopped arguing. Garth's smile vanished and Mr Fizzles looked about as scared as a sock could.

"Have you finished eating, Mr Winchester?" Naomi asked, her expression frozen on her face.

Dean blinked and looked at his half-full plate. "Uh. Yeah, I guess," he said, already mourning the loss of his meal.

"Excellent. Come with me, please."

Dean stayed awkwardly silent as Naomi clacked away on her sensible heels, before standing up and following, highly aware that all eyes were trained on him. His ears turned a burning red. He wondered whether Castiel was staring too, and gritted his teeth to get rid of the thought.

Naomi led him swiftly through the corridors to the reception area and briskly punched in the code for the staff wing.

"Follow me, please, Mr Winchester." She walked through.

Dean did as he was told, curiously looking around at the staff area of the asylum. It wasn't much different from the patient wing; same wall paint, same floor...and yet it seemed a lot less institutionalised.

Naomi finally stopped outside a wooden door with a name plaque on it that read, unsurprisingly, _Naomi Balt_. She held the door open for him, and Dean obediently entered the room. The office was decently sized and painfully void of personality, much like Naomi herself. There was a desk, a comfortable chair, a good deal of filing cabinets and a couple of bookshelves filled with dull-looking tomes.

Naomi gestured to the small chair in front of the desk. "Please sit, Mr Winchester."

Dean wished she'd stop with all this Mr Winchester crap. He had no delusions about who was in charge here. Nevertheless, he sat, and Naomi sat across from him.

"You are probably wondering why I have called you here," she stated.

Dean didn't quite know how to reply. He settled for: "Uh...yeah, a bit."

"I was just curious as to how you found your first day," she said, not sounding curious at all.

Dean shrugged. "It was good, I suppose."

"Do you get along with the other patients?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Did you have any problems?"

"No."

"How did you find your room?"

"Okay."

Seemingly realising that she wasn't going to get much more out of Dean, Naomi leaned back in her chair and folded her hands. "Very well," she said. "And now for the real reason I called you here."

Dean held his breath, wondering what was coming.

"You will have an appointment with me every week, on Wednesday, after lunch. This is protocol, and it is just to make sure you settle into your life here with as few problems as possible," Naomi informed him.

Dean blinked. "How long will they go on for?" he asked.

Naomi smiled ever so slightly, picking up a pen and jotting something down. Dean cursed himself.

"Not too long," Naomi reassured him. "Just until you and I both feel you are fully integrated."

Dean nodded silently, dread pooling in his gut. He didn't let it show on his face.

Naomi scribbled a couple more sentences. "How do you find the food, Mr Winchester?" she asked detachedly, glancing up at him.

Dean shrugged. "It's better than I expected."

"What were you expecting?"

"I dunno. I've never been somewhere like this before." Dean shrugged nonchalantly.

Naomi wrote something more. Dean wondered what the hell she'd managed to get from two sentences.

There was a silence, and Dean worried about whether he was supposed to break it. Just as he was planning what to say, Naomi stated, "I hear you have made friends with Castiel."

Dean blinked and wondered who she'd heard it from, and whether exactly she knew that her information was out of date. "I suppose," he replied, giving as little away as he could.

Naomi's eyes bored into his. "Interesting."

Dean couldn't see how it was.

Naomi leaned forward slightly and steepled her fingers. "I wouldn't recommend such a relationship," she said bluntly.

Dean was surprised, enough that it showed clearly in his expression. "Why not?" He sounded defensive, even to his own ears, which of course was absurd.

Naomi just smiled mysteriously. "How do you find your daily group meetings?" she asked instead.

Dean hesitated for a millisecond, taken by surprise at the sudden detour in subject. "Uh, they're good, I guess."

Naomi nodded. "You get along with the other patients within your group?"

"Yeah." Dean had figured out that the way to get her to stop writing was to answer as sparingly as possible.

"And Junior Doctor Tran is to your liking?"

Dean frowned at the odd phrasing of the question, but nevertheless replied, "Yeah."

Naomi pursed her lips slightly, sitting very straight in her chair and laying her pen on the desk. Dean breathed a mental sigh of relief.

"That is all for today, I believe, Mr Winchester," she said briskly. "I will expect to see you in my office next week. Ellen will let you in."

"Thanks," Dean replied, standing and walking to the door. Then he hesitated. "Why do you say Castiel isn't a good person to be friends with?" he asked warily.

Naomi smiled cryptically. "I never said that. I merely said I wouldn't recommend such a friendship."

Dean searched her blank face a second longer, then turned to leave.

* * *

Dean was reading one of the books Kevin had given him, seated on his bed and turning a page every now and then. He was surprised by how much he liked it; he never would have pegged it for his kind of thing.

It was after about three quarters of an hour of Poirot that Dean realised he couldn't hear any noise coming from the direction of the rec room, something quite strange, as it was only a few metres away from Dean's room.

Then he realised.

_Fuck. Group meeting._

He speed-walked down the hallways to Room 79, wondering how annoyed Kevin would be that he'd forgotten his second group talk in two days. He burst through the door, out of breath and embarrassingly flushed. The other occupants looked up, surprised.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," Dean told Kevin, still trying to catch his breath.

Kevin waved him off. "Nah, it's alright. You're only ten minutes off."

Dean nodded, relieved, and sat down in the single free chair. It was next to Castiel. Naturally.

"The topic today is Favourite Things," Kevin said for Dean's benefit. "Chuck was just telling us about his old dog."

Dean tried not to groan. _Favourite things? Really? Are they under the impression that us patients have the mental age of five?_

Dean listened in mild interest as Chuck finished his story about the dog he'd had before he'd been admitted to Balt's. It was quite sweet, how fond he seemed of the memories.

Charlie was quite subdued throughout the discussion, only piping up to ask a question or tell a story of her own; she obviously still felt slightly guilty about upsetting Kevin the day before. Nevertheless, to Dean's annoyance, she still kept shooting suggestive glances at him, looking at both him and Castiel in turn, then wiggling her eyebrows, smirk badly hidden. Dean resisted the urge to flip her off.

Kevin seemed satisfied with the talk after Dean had talked about pie, and dismissed them to do whatever they wanted until dinner.

Like last time, Dean and Charlie were the last to leave, and Dean's efforts to walk quickly away proved futile as as she cornered him in front of Room 81.

"So, what was up with Naomi?" she asked conversationally, raising her eyebrow. "What did she want?"

Dean shrugged. "Weird. She took me to her office and asked me shit about whether I've been settling in, then said we'd be having a meeting every Wednesday."

Charlie's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline, her eyes widening to occupy a comical proportion of her face. "Yeah, I'd say that's weird," she agreed. "Why'd she do that?"

Dean frowned. "She said this was normal for new patients," he said carefully.

A slow shake of the head.

His stomach curled. The hell was going on _now_?

Charlie looked pensive. "Tell you what," she exclaimed suddenly, "I'll ask Castiel if something like this has ever happened before. He'll know better than me."

She made to walk away, but Dean caught her wrist before she could do anything rash.

"Don't," he told her urgently. "Look, it's probably nothing."

"Nothing with Naomi is ever nothing," came the cryptic reply.

"Alright, whatever. But don't get Castiel involved."

"Why the hell not?" Charlie was beginning to look frustrated.

Dean sighed. "I'm pretty sure he's going to want nothing to do with me."

"Oh, bull." Charlie rolled her eyes so hard they nearly fell out of her sockets. So you were a dick on your first day. So's everyone else. You should have seen Benny. Castiel's not gonna hold it against you. He likes you."

"He does not," Dean scoffed.

"He so does. I don't know whether you've noticed or not, but he doesn't exactly hang around others voluntarily."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "So he lets me into his room once. So what?"

"He let you in his _room_?!" The eyebrows were back up there with the hairline again.

Dean hesitated at the overreaction. "Uh..."

Charlie exhaled sharply. "Dean," she said bluntly. "You really don't get this, do you? Castiel is almost more private than _Gordon_ , and he let you in his room?! That's like a marriage proposal from anyone else, especially on your first day! I've only been in there for a minute when he was sick and Kevin asked me to bring him a book."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure it means we're destined to be married and have babies and live happily ever after. Seriously, Charlie?"

"Yes, seriously. Either way, are you actually going to let something like a minor one-sided spat ruin everything? What are you, three?"

"I thought I was supposed to get all this psychoanalysis ball-tripping from Kevin," Dean replied dryly.

Charlie set her lips. "Yeah, very funny, now get over your own ass and fricking apologise and make up with Castiel. Seriously, it's either that or I go to him with the Naomi story, garnished with a few extras. See how worried he gets _then_. Wants nothing to do with you, my ass."

"...you're bluffing."

"Am not, Winchester, now suck it," she told him authoritatively.

Dean gave up. "Fine! God. But in my _own_ time," he emphasised. "I'm a childish asshat whose pride needs nurturing for this."

"You are definitely an asshat," Charlie agreed "Now get lost; I wanna finish that game of Swear Scrabble Andy's losing."

Dean shook his head fondly and watched her scamper off down the corridor to kick Andy's ass.


	4. An Interlude

It had been nearly a week since Charlie had made that comment during Dean's first group session, and yet Kevin still couldn't quite look her in the eye. She'd obviously noticed – the girl was more observant than himself on a good day – and had backed off a little, to his relief.

He knew why the statement bugged him so much; he was a psychiatrist for Christ's sake, in training or no. Charlie was right, of course she was. No staff left Balt's once they'd walked through the gates. But Kevin was determined to be the first.

He had been contemplating handing in his notice earlier than planned, after Charlie's comment. Finish his training somewhere else, somewhere normal. Somewhere where the superiors weren't so irritating and immovable in their decrees. Somewhere where the atmosphere didn't constantly put him on edge.

Kevin didn't think he was quite suited to such an intensive environment as Balt's. He could use his experience to become a doctor in the usual sense of the word, he theorised, perhaps later freelance as a psychiatrist in his own time.

But then reality kicked in, and Kevin sighed in defeat. The patients would be perturbed by the change, especially those in his own group. How would Chuck, who had taken so long to come round to Kevin in the first place, cope? How would Castiel find reading material, or find someone willing to try and communicate with him? How would Charlie get access to technology to prevent her from completely losing her mind? And Dean. He'd had enough change in his life already.

His mother would have been disappointed too. _What are you talking about, Kevin? s_ he'd demand, scandalised. _You can't give up in the middle of the game. You have responsibilities now, and not just for yourself either!_

No, he'd wait it out. At least until he finished his training.

Kevin looked up as his bedroom door opened and Alife entered. "Hey, Kevin," he greeted, smiling.

Kevin smiled back a bit wanly. Of course, there was Alfie too. The only Balt he felt truly comfortable around. How would he cope, surrounded by his uptight brothers and sisters with no outlet?

Alfie sighed heavily and plopped himself next to Kevin, the mattress springs squalling at the disturbance.

"Naomi's been having a go at me again," he revealed, rolling his eyes. "For letting the hold on my group get 'too lax'. They're not allowed to laugh or have fun anymore, apparently."

Kevin tutted in sympathy. "It's insane. Just ignore it and do what you think is best. You know them better than Naomi does, after all."

Alfie smiled ruefully. "Yeah...Andy especially would be bored to tears without some jokes. But she's scary, you know? I mean, yeah she's my sister, but she was already grown up when I was born, and I'm freaking terrified of her." His face betrayed exactly how true his words were, even though he put them forward in a playful manner.

Kevin chuckled and punched his shoulder lightly. "Whipped," he commented provokingly.

They both knew he was just as intimidated as Alfie.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean couldn't sleep. He had no idea what time it was, but the wan sunlight seeping through the plastic window hinted at somewhere around five. He'd been tossing and turning all night, drifting off for twenty minutes here and there, but no sleep came deep enough to rest him in any sense of the word. His eyes felt gritty, his throat was dry, and he was desperate for some water – though not enough to actually get up.

He plumped up his thin pillow yet again and shut his eyes determinedly, attempting to forcibly will himself into the land of dreams. It didn't work.

Swearing, Dean sat up and turned on his lamp. He staggered into the bathroom and drank greedily from the tap, the water tasting strange in his parched mouth. Then, he collapsed back into bed and picked up Kevin's book, giving up all hope of sleep before the eight o'clock wake-up.

As he read, the uneasiness and discomfort that insomnia caused were eased away, and after half a chapter Dean was fast asleep, his lax hands still curled around the novel.

He dreamed of rage, and fear, and empty eyes that stared into his, no recognition present.

* * *

Dean woke up late, feeling as if he'd ingested the bottom of a parrot's cage. He vainly tried to rub the grit away from his eyes, then stormed into the bathroom to wash his face. He'd shower after breakfast; who here would care, anyway? He staggered to the canteen, correctly figuring that breakfast would have been served by now. He slumped down in a seat opposite Charlie.

"Looking good, hotshot," she commented lightly, swallowing her mouthful.

Dean only glared at her.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "I'll leave you to your gourmet meal, then."

Dean realised he'd forgotten to pick up any food. "Fuck."

"I recommend the cereal today," Charlie told him. "They have Cheerios."

"How old do they think we are?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Dunno 'bout you, but I'm never gonna be too old for Cheerios," she replied around a spoonful.

Dean shrugged and went to fetch his breakfast. He didn't properly register what he put on his plate until he sat down and realised he had a roll and slightly congealed scrambled eggs. "Where is everyone?" he asked, ripping the bread in half.

Charlie shrugged. "Chuck hasn't got up yet, as usual, Garth finished quickly and went to set up Monopoly, and Andy's chatting up Alfie."

"Right."

Dean munched his way through the roll, mouth dry even as he downed two cups of water in a row.

Charlie watched him, mildly concerned. "Hey, you okay, though?" she inquired. "You look a little like death."

Dean shook his head. "Didn't sleep. Dunno why; I've always been able to catch a half-decent night before."

"Probably the change in the weather," Charlie said all-knowingly. "You could try nicking a shirt and hanging it over the window some way. That'd help with the light problem."

"Right, thanks," said Dean, not even properly registering her words. His head felt stuffed up and numbed, and he wondered if he was getting a cold.

The rest of the meal was taken in silence, until Charlie piped up again.

"So...Castiel talked to you yet?"

Dean flashed her an exasperated look as he took yet another gulp of water. "He doesn't talk to _anyone_ , Charlie!" he exclaimed, wiping his mouth.

"You know what I mean."

"God's sake." Dean rolled his eyes. "No, he hasn't. Why would he?"

Charlie shrugged, a smirk playing about her lips. "Pretty sure I saw him looking at you during group yesterday. Though ogling would probably be a better choice of word."

"Oh, God forbid the man ever stare off into space," Dean proclaimed sarcastically.

"He was definitely focused," Charlie informed him. "And it wasn't on space."

"Just lay off, will you? I'm not in the mood today."

"And I'm not going to let your mood get in the way of my OTP," Charlie said cheerily, smiling brightly.

"...huh?"

"Need to know."

"Ah." Internet shit again. Great.

At this point, Andy decided to take his leave from Alfie and wander over. Dean quickly escaped before he was tempted to commit homicide.

He sauntered into the rec room to have a chat with Garth. He and Mr Fizzles were busy setting up the ancient Monopoly board, using bits of torn-up paper for counters because Raphael had confiscated most of the pieces as health hazards. They tried to convince him to play with them, when Charlie and Andy came back from the dining hall, but Dean refused gently, truthfully saying he needed to take a shower.

"Well, you can always join in if you change your mind!" Garth said without a shred of resentment in his voice, beaming.

Dean nodded vaguely, his attention drawn somewhere else. He wasn't sure what it had been, maybe the sudden emptying of the exercise corner of the rec room, maybe the waves of tension rolling from it, but he looked up to see a nervous-looking Castiel – or rather the person talking to him.

Gordon didn't look happy, and if Castiel's jittery edging away was any indication, he didn't sound happy either. The taller man was hissing right into his face, teeth bared and spit flying.

Silent and face stony, Dean rose from the sofa and walked over, ignoring Garth's questions. As he drew nearer, he could heard what Gordon was spitting into Castiel's ashen face through his teeth.

"I don't ever want to see your face near me again, you hear? You watch where you're going, dipshit, and you fucking _apologise_ when you run into me!"

Castiel stayed silent.

"Wassup?" Gordon's voice took on a mocking tone. "Cat got your tongue? Should I remove it properly for you, you little bitch?"

Dean stepped in. "Alright, that's enough."

They both turned to look at him. Castiel was relieved, though anxiousness was still evident on his features. Gordon was just enraged.

"What business is it of yours, punk?" he challenged.

"More business than you have being a dick," Dean replied, voice stronger than he felt in the face of an enormous pillar of bulging muscles and fury.

Gordon advanced upon him, and Castiel darted to his side, urgently tugging on his sleeve, beseeching him to walk away. Dean ignored him. Gordon kept on approaching, closer and closer, until he was a breath away from Dean's face. Castiel was looking desperately around for the orderlies now. They hadn't noticed a thing.

"Listen, you piece of shit." Gordon's voice was eerily calm, hinting at the hurricane to come. "I don't know who you think you are, waltzing in here like you're some kind of god, but let me tell you a thing. You ain't. And if you keep tryin' to pretend you're any better than me, I'm gonna _show_ you how fucking wrong you are."

Dean's heart stuttered – not in fear, but in surprise as Castiel's hand grasped his wrist firmly, skin on skin, and started bodily dragging him away. His hand was trembling slightly at the contact, but Castiel seemed absolutely determined to get Dean away from Gordon.

Only resisting as a token effort, Dean decided to humour him. "I don't have time for this crap," he told Gordon airily. "Go get anger management or something." And then he turned away to follow Castiel, leaving his back entirely unprotected as he walked away. He was completely unprepared for the 35 pound dumbbell that crashed into the back of his skull.

His wrist was ripped out of Castiel's slippery grasp as he tumbled to the ground, Gordon pouncing on his bared back and hitting his head over and over. Castiel managed to catch his arm after the third or fourth hit; Dean didn't know. The now completely grey man attempted to wrestle Gordon off Dean, and through his haze of pain Dean felt muted fury as Gordon smashed his elbow into Castiel's face, sending him crashing into a table before slumping on the ground. Gordon turned back to Dean, who was now struggling underneath him, and tightened his hand on his throat until he could barely gasp for breath. Raising the dumbbell for the final blow, he let loose a manic grin that chilled Dean right to the bone. Castiel was trying to stagger upright, panic clear on his face as he realised there was no way he could stop Gordon now.

And then suddenly Gordon was thrown backwards off Dean, and Benny was roaring in rage and punching the man again and again and _now_ the staff decided to get involved and they were dragging Benny away and holding Gordon down, one man to each limb and he punched one of them, and Dean saw it was Alfie, skinny as he was, with a stony expression behind the blood streaming down his face, pinning Gordon's arm to the ground. And Dean's sight began to fade, and he saw Castiel above him and the guy looked distraught as he tried vainly to stem the blood flow from Dean's head wounds and Dean had been such a dick to him, why the hell did he even care and when the fuck was he actually going to pass...

* * *

Dean came to gradually, blearily staring up at the ceaselessly spinning ceiling above him. He was in a bright place; he didn't know where. As he drifted further into awareness, he groaned quietly. His head felt like it was splitting in two, and his muscles were stiff and sore.

"Dean?" came a quiet, anxious voice above him.

Blinking hard to clear his vision, Dean tried to focus on the shape sitting next to his bed. It was wearing the white pyjamas of a patient; dark hair; blue, _blue_ eyes...

Dean started violently, trying to sit up before falling back onto the mattress with a cry of pain. When he'd got his breath back, he rasped, "Cas...?"

Castiel nodded solemnly. He had dressing on his face and a bruised eye.

"You're talking? Or am I dreaming?" Dean muttered, almost intelligibly.

"You clearly need someone to outright tell you when to stop being a fool," came the shockingly venomous reply.

"Woah, woah, woah." Dean held up his hands, the only part of him that didn't hurt. "I saved your ass." The memories of Gordon and the dumbbell were coming back now, and Dean was more than slightly pissed off by how ungrateful Castiel was.

"Both of us would have been fine if you'd left it alone." Castiel's eyes were stony, like pieces of ice jabbing into Dean's own.

"You're kidding, right?" Dean couldn't quite believe it. "You were petrified, and the dude was way out of line. Someone needed to put him in his place."

"Yes, you did that so well," Castiel replied with biting sarcasm.

Dean glowered at him. "So you only started talking to me to chew me out for risking my hide to save yours? Charming, you asshole."

Castiel's expression softened slightly then, realising Dean was slightly hurt underneath all his anger. "I'm...sorry. I shouldn't have reprimanded you as soon as you awoke."

Dean shook him off. "Have you been mute for so long you're still using nineteenth century vocabulary? Awoke? No one says that except in books!"

Castiel's mouth reformed into the hard line of before, and he snapped, "I am not mute."

"I can see that."

Castiel stood. "I have no reason to subject you to my presence any longer." He turned to leave.

Dean reached out slightly and caught his hand before he could think about it. "Hey, wa–" his words were swallowed by a cry of agony as Castiel slapped his arm violently away. He cradled it against his chest, even as it ached all the more for the movement, and cringed away from Castiel, who looked horrified at himself.

"Dean, I –"

"What in the name of Satan is going on here?" came a calm, sarcastic and very British voice from the doorway. Castiel turned, eyes wide, to stare at the dark-haired, short man dressed in a white coat. "Interesting to hear you talking, though, Angel. Don't worry, I won't tell the quacks." The man made his way over to the desk and seated himself comfortably in the high-backed leather chair. "Just don't hit the bloke too much, or I'll have to suffer him for longer."

"Oi," Dean said irritably, wondering what he'd ever done to the man.

"Nothing personal, Squirrel. I just don't particularly like having patients. Three at once were three too many." The man calmly lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"Squirrel?!" If Dean had been able to get up, he would have introduced the man to his fist, injured arm or not.

"I give nicknames to everyone. Crowley, by the way," the man introduced himself, glancing at Dean. "I'm the doctor here. Don't get sick too often and we'll get along just fine."

"You're a doctor?" At Crowley's affirming nod, Dean asked confrontationally, "The hell haven't you bandaged my arm up then? It has to be at least sprained!"

"Actually, you nearly broke your humerus, landing on it like that. And now Thursday's gone and whacked it again, I suppose I'll have to take another look," the man said all-sufferingly, getting slowly up and stubbing out his cigarette.

Dean glanced at Castiel. "Thursday?"

Crowley hummed. "Castiel, Angel of Thursday, as the myths go."

"Didn't peg you for a religious type."

"I don't have to be religious to know my stuff," Crowley said simply. "I suppose I might put this in a sling after all. You're an awful lot of trouble, you know that?"

"Well, excuse me." Dean watched as Crowley fashioned a sling and manoeuvred his arm into it. Castiel watched as well, hovering in a way that was obviously bugging Crowley, but the man evidently couldn't be bothered to reprimand him.

"So, what's the rest of the diagnosis?" Dean asked out of curiosity.

Crowley thought for a minute. "Well, there was a lot of bruising, obviously. Then your arm, bit of damage to the throat and quite a lot of trauma to the head, shockingly. Not too bad of a concussion, which really is shocking, so you should be fine in a few days. Tough brain you got there, Butch."

Dean ignored him. "What about you, Cas?" He looked at the quiet man, who didn't quite meet his eyes, evidently still ashamed of his behaviour. "Why are you in here?"

"Mainly because he refused to leave, actually," Crowley answered for him. "All he had was a black eye, cut cheek and a bashed head, but he wouldn't go back to the ward until he could make sure you were alright. Sickening, really."

Dean looked at Castiel in surprise, and this time the other man met his gaze dead on. Dean saw reflected in his eyes a ripple of the determination with which Castiel had dragged Gordon off him.

"How long have I been here?" he asked, still searching Castiel's face.

Crowley had seated himself at his desk again and lighting another cancer stick. "'Bout half a day," he said around it. "Bit surprised you woke up that quickly, but who cares?"

Dean frowned at the glowing smoke in the doctor's mouth. "Do you have to do that in here?" he whined. "It smells, and I bet you're not supposed to."

Crowley smiled sweetly at him. "Keep your mouth shut and maybe I won't slip a powerful laxative into your food."

Dean promptly decided to keep Crowley's secret. "You have got to be the worst doctor ever," he said instead.

Crowley snorted. "Probably. God knows how I ended up here. He probably does, actually. Likely to have done it himself. Wouldn't blame him."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

Castiel had re-seated himself by Dean's bedside and procured a book from somewhere. It wasn't the science one Dean had seen last time.

"Where's Gordon?" Dean asked; he didn't know why.

"Hm?" Crowley looked up.

"Gordon. Far as I know, Benny beat him pretty good. Where is he?"

"Not here," the man supplied helpfully. "I saw Redneck briefly, though." Dean assumed Redneck was Benny. "He just had a set of bruised knuckles."

Dean frowned. "Is Gordon in hospital, then?"

Crowley snorted. "You're _all_ in a hospital, sweetheart."

"You know what I mean!"

"Yeah, yeah. No one gets taken to hospital from here, I'm afraid, Nosy. Too high-risk to have you charmers in a public place."

"So where is he?" Dean asked again.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "No bloody clue, alright? Can you stop asking now? Anybody'd think you were in love with that loony."

Dean balked. "Ew. No. Just curious."

"Might call you George, then."

"What?"

"Nothing. Castiel, are you going to leave _now_ , at least? Your boyfriend's alive and well. Please leave me alone," Crowley said with a completely blank face, not even blinking.

Castiel looked up at him and shook his head.

The doctor sighed. "Fine. But when I run out of excuses for Naomi, you're out on your ear."

Castiel nodded in understanding and went back to his book. It was silent, and Dean eventually drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

Crowley dismissed Dean from the infirmary after another couple of days, a relieved grin on his face.

"Rest up," he commanded. "Don't use your arm too much. Don't pick any more fights. Don't be an idiot. Leave."

Dean was touched at his sensitivity.

True to his words, Crowley had indeed thrown Castiel out on his ear before curfew on the first day, and the dark-haired man was waiting for Dean in the hallway, the closest a patient could get to the infirmary (which was just next to Ellen's door) without a permit.

"Hello, Dean," he greeted quietly.

Dean just nodded brusquely and walked on. Castiel didn't seem to get the hint, and trotted after him.

"I'd like to apologise for my behaviour with your arm a few days ago," he said. "It was a reflex reaction, and I didn't mean to –"

"Yeah, I get it," Dean interrupted irritably. His painkillers were wearing off and his head was pounding. "I'm sorry for ever trying to help."

"No, that's not what I meant." Castiel caught his sleeve and forced Dean to face him. "I really am grateful for what you did the other day. The fact that I chose to speak to you is proof enough of that. You are a good man, Dean, and I wish to at least be on good terms with you."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Is this your way of asking to be friends?" he asked suspiciously.

Castiel hesitated. "I suppose," he allowed.

Dean started walking away again. "Sorry, _Angel_ , but it doesn't quite work that way."

Castiel forced him to a halt again. "You seemed quite eager to be my friend on your first day here."

"Yeah, and then I was a dick to you and decided we were better off separate. Things have changed."

"It's been over a week."

Dean scoffed and tried to struggle away. Castiel didn't let him. "I don't resent you for what you did or said that day, Dean. I understand. I _am_ strange, and it was all too much for you."

Dean sighed. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Not after you risked yourself to come to my aid."

"You make yourself sound like some helpless princess, honestly. And Gordon isn't _that_ scary," Dean said, full of bravado.

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe he is. But you can look after yourself."

"In this kind of place, you need more than one set of eyes watching your back," Castiel said seriously.

 _Oh, so that's what this is about_ , Dean thought. Castiel wanted a heavy. Fair enough.

"Okay, fine. I'll watch out for you, you watch out for me. And now you're talking, you can tell me more stuff about this place."

Castiel looked reluctant.

"Not so eager now, are you?" Dean challenged. "But that's my demand. I want to be able to trust you, and so you're going to have to be honest with me."

Castiel nodded. "I understand."

"So you'll do it?"

"...yes."

"Good."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

It was the day after Dean had been released from Crowley's tender care, and he was sitting with Charlie and Garth, a half-bowlful of cereal in front of him.

"So," he asked when he'd finished his mouthful, "what happened to Gordon? The douchebag of a doctor refused to help me."

Garth shrugged. "Dunno, man," he said calmly. "We ain't seen hide nor hair of him since. Benny got shoved in isolation for a day, but that's all we know about it."

"Talking about that, I need to thank Benny," Dean suddenly remembered. "I would've died if he hadn't stepped in."

"No lies there," Charlie commented. "Again, Dean: you look like shit."

"Thanks, Charlie."

At this point, Castiel walked into the dining room. Dean froze, then looked shiftily at his companions. "Ah. Guys, do you mind if I ditch you for a bit...?"

Charlie looked ecstatic, a slow grin spreading across her face as she glanced between Cas and Dean. Mr Fizzles somehow managed to give him a significant look with his buttons.

" _Sure, go ahead,_ " the puppet said. " _Give Ol' Blue a kiss for me. French. With tongue._ "

"And one for me," added Charlie.

Dean glared at them both, throwing one at Garth for good measure. "Shut up."

He walked over to sit opposite Cas.

"'Sup?"

Castiel looked him up and down, before settling on his eyes. "I'm not sure of an appropriate response to that question," he admitted frankly.

Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw Charlie's mouth fall open as Cas spoke to him. He tried to ignore her. "Surely you can at least try?" he joked.

Cas looked hesitant. "Your momma...?"

Dean hurriedly held up his hands to stop him introducing embarrassment to the table. "What? No. That's not even...no," he groaned, looking pained.

"My apologies."

Dean shook his head. "No, it's okay. Pretty fucking hilarious, actually." He hurriedly changed the subject. "How's your face?"

"Getting better," Castiel informed him, touching his cheek that was now free of bandages. "And your...everything?" he asked in return.

"Constant headache, ribs hurt, sling's a pain, but apart from that everything's agony," Dean told him cheerfully.

Cas regarded him with narrowed eyes. "That was sarcasm?" he tried.

"Not quite. You know, I'm kinda surprised you're talking to me," Dean said truthfully, though he wasn't half as surprised as Charlie or Mr Fizzles. Or Garth, for that matter.

"You thought I'd change my mind?" Castiel's voice was suddenly apprehensive, guarded.

Dean backtracked quickly. "No, no, I mean _here_. With everyone watching." And they were indeed watching. Charlie was looking positively hungry at this point.

Cas shrugged. "It's no secret that I am able to speak if I wish. Though you are right in some respect: we should try and keep this relatively hidden from the staff."

His words reminded Dean of his meeting with Naomi, and her warning. "Oh yeah, that reminds me of something weird. Naomi told me I shouldn't hang around with you." He eyed Castiel, waiting for a clarification.

Cas looked mildly confused. "When she called you from lunch that day?"

"Yup. She wouldn't say why, either."

Cas heaved a deep breath and sighed. "Naomi seems to be under the impression that I'm going to go postal any second. She keeps suggesting to Kevin that he move me into Alfie's group, but he disregards her."

"Good old Kev," Dean enthused. "Naomi's a bitch. And I have to go see her every single week! Can you believe it?"

Castiel looked alarmed. "Scheduled meetings? Why?"

Dean shrugged. "She said they're to help me settle in and shit. She said it was protocol!" he asked, half-knowing what Castiel's reaction would be.

Castiel shook his head slowly.

"Fuck." Dean closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why me then? What's different about me?"

Cas opened his mouth as if to say something, but froze suddenly. His eyes widened. "Me," he said simply.

"Huh?"

"I'm different. Generally, most new patients keep to themselves for the first week or so, but you...you directly approached me, the strange one who doesn't talk –" Dean winced slightly as he remembered his own words to Cas of a similar effect. "– and then I allow you into my room. It's abnormal behaviour on both sides form their point of view."

"But it's hardly a bad thing, is it?"

"I don't know. The staff here seem to..." Cas fished around for his rusty words. "...not discourage, but they don't _en_ courage one to create relationships with others. Hence, you get the loners like Benny and Chuck –" _And you_ , Dean added in his head. "– the pairs like Meg and Lisa, the generally well-liked ones like Charlie, Garth and Andy, and the violent secluded ones, like Gordon."

"Speaking of which," Dean said suddenly, feeling a misplaced urgency, "where is he? Garth and Charlie haven't seen him – do you happen to know where he is?"

Castiel searched his eyes, then glanced around the room. "We can't talk about this here," he whispered. "Come with me."

They picked up their half-eaten breakfasts and left the canteen.

They walked to Castiel's room, and this time Castiel took the chair while Dean perched on the immaculately made bed.

"So?" Dean leaned forward eagerly. "Where is he?"

Castiel hesitated for a second. "Before I tell you," he said, "would you be amenable to telling me why you wish to know?"

"You're not gonna go all Crowley and ask if I've gone Stockholm on him, are you?" Dean groaned. "The guy's a dick, I couldn't give two fucks about him. But weird shit's going on here, man, and I wanna know what it is."

Cas nodded. "Very well. I'm afraid you will be disappointed with my knowledge, however. As a patient, albeit a long-standing one, I do not have –"

"Oh, quit the crap, Cas, I don't expect you to know everything! I just want you to tell me all the stuff you do know, so I don't feel like the retard on the block."

Cas bit his lip, smiling slightly. "As you wish. It doesn't take much intellect to realise that Gordon has been taken for punishment. Violence is more...tolerated – or perhaps ignored – in this establishment compared to others, but if an individual has to be sent to the infirmary as a result of a fight, the perpetrators are generally disciplined. Usually they are put in isolation, but there are others whose crimes are deemed too serious. I don't know where they are taken, or what happens there, but it has happened before. The patients who were taken came back different, changed. There was barely a shred of their old personalities left. And they wouldn't say a word about what happened to them there."

"This has happened before?" Dean asked, a frown creasing his brow. "With who?"

Cas pursed his lips. "Benny," he said finally.

Dean's eyes widened. "After he...his girlfriend..."

"Yes. After Andrea's death, Benny was taken away for a long time: a number of weeks. He came back very changed. He was much quieter, much mellower, than before. It might seem to you as if he's still very volatile, but trust me: it's nothing compared to his state before. He used to be utterly vicious, even when he wasn't angered. He used to be even more feared than Gordon."

Dean's eyes widened. "Seriously? Charlie didn't say anything about that."

"It's not generally considered acceptable to talk about other patients' conditions without their consent," Cas said, and Dean nodded in understanding. "Benny has since apologised for his previous behaviour, something his old self would have preferred death over, and made allies – if not friends – out of the majority of the hospital."

Dean nodded slowly, trying to take it all in. "So you think Gordon's going to come back completely different?"

Cas nodded. "Yes, but that is not the most worrying thing on my mind right now."

Dean regarded him with apprehension. "Then what is?"

Cas looked him straight in the eye, and again Dean had the impression that he was being sucked into the alarmingly intense irises, getting lost in the maze of their specks and shades.

"You may be punished too," Castiel told him, voice blunt and cold, truth weighing down every word.

Dean suddenly felt cold. Panic twisted his stomach and set his heart racing, his skin prickling with the promise of a cold sweat. "What?" was all he could manage, his voice weak.

"Gordon threatened me without a legitimate reason, so I myself am safe," Castiel clarified, a vague hint of sympathy in his gaze. "But you outright provoked him. You are partly responsible for the conflict."

Dean could feel the blood draining from his face, and he felt slightly light-headed. "Okay," he said, "okay. But Benny was only put in isolation, and I never actually managed to hit Gordon back..." His voice sounded pleading, even to his own ears.

Castiel shook his head. "That will mean that your punishment is less severe than Gordon's, yes, but not necessarily that it won't be severe at all."

"But that makes no sense! Benny was pretty much unprovoked to beat up the cunt, so why...?!"

Castiel sighed, his hand twitching forwards as if to touch the other man. It stayed on his lap. "Benny has already been severely punished before. It is possible, or at least it is my theory, that the institute believes they have done all they can with him. No further punishment will make any difference. Nothing here is done without a reason, Dean, not even punishment."

"So what if they take me to this place, then?" Dean snapped, panic taking a complete hold. "What if I come back changed, too?"

Cas looked at him solemnly. "Then what's done is done. There is nothing you or I can do."

"Don't you care at all?!" Dean squawked, incredulous. "Do I just mean nothing to you?"

Castiel's eyes became hostile, so suddenly that they almost seemed to belong to a different man. He stood from the chair, marching swiftly to where Dean sat and shoving his face into the other man's.

"Do you honestly think that I would be talking to you – inviting you into my room – if you meant nothing?" he asked angrily, voice an impossibly deep snarl.

Dean leaned back slightly, alarmed at the sudden change in demeanour. "I..."

"You have no idea," Cas continued, still obviously enraged, "of how monumental this is for me. _No one_ is invited into my room. Ever. That doesn't mean they do not enter, but I am never comfortable enough with their presence to outright request it. Dean, I let you in on the first day we met. What does that tell you?"

Dean didn't have an answer, and his mouth closed and opened uselessly.

Castiel told him anyway. "You're the first person I have felt that I can fully trust in my entire living memory. I don't know why, and I don't know why you, but that's how it is."

"But..." Dean struggled with his words. "It was only our first day. How did you decide...so quickly...?" he trailed off as Castiel sighed deeply, a warm puff of breath wafting over Dean's own face.

"I do not know exactly," Cas repeated. "But I think it may have had something to do with the way you apologised after we ran into each other in the corridor. You were unwilling, even possibly desperate, not to have me think badly of you. And that is what was different. No one in Balt's cares what others think of them. But you are dependant, almost childlike compared to that..." Dean tried not to bristle. "...and for some reason I feel as though you would never willingly do me harm."

There was a brief silence, the only sound in the room being their (now slightly laboured) breathing. Neither of them moved, and their faces were still uncomfortably close, their breaths mingling with a strange intimacy.

"Well," Dean said finally, leaning back an inch. "That was vomit-inducing."

Castiel abruptly straightened up, walking back to the chair. "Thank you for your sensitivity," he said acidly, sitting down.

Dean laughed – a mistake. "You see, you do know what sarcasm is!"

Castiel's expression was stony.

Dean stopped laughing. "Look, I'm sorry." He sighed. "It's just...I'm not really one for chick-flick moments, okay? I'm not good with...feelings, and spilling my guts. I just...don't really know how to respond to that. I guess."

Cas nodded brusquely, not appeased in the slightest.

Dean sighed again, deeper this time. "Well...thanks, I suppose." Cas looked up at him. "I...it's pretty flattering that you find me so...special." Dean's face clearly broadcasted the fact that he was hugely uncomfortable. "And you're right. I never want to hurt you. And yet I always seem to manage it. Sorry."

Finally, Castiel's eyes softened, and his body lost the rigid edge. "No, I understand," he said. "This must be hugely stressful to you. I forget...I've been here for as long as I can remember..."

"It's okay," Dean said with finality. "Can we stop with the ice-cream and tears now, please? I'm going to grow a vagina any second."

Castiel looked confused, but didn't pursue it. "Anyhow," he said, "you must be prepared for your punishment, when they come for you. Don't resist; you will just make it worse for yourself. You may yet recieve lenience; they've at least given you time to recover from your injuries." His voice was solemn, almost to the point where it had a physical weight.

"You're making this sound awfully final," Dean said, voice pitched a notch or two higher than normal. "I'm gonna come back, aren't I?"

"I hope so," was all Cas said.

* * *

The next morning, before he went early to breakfast, Castiel knocked on Dean's door. When he received no reply, he opened it to find the room empty.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel was slightly nervous to go down to breakfast that day. Rightly so: Charlie cornered him before he'd even reached the queue.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

Castiel furrowed his brow in false confusion.

"Dean," Charlie stated, face seemingly carved out of stone. "You two were joined at the hip all day yesterday, but he's not with you now, and he isn't in his room. So where the hell is he?"

Castiel shook his head, shrugging.

"Bullshit. He's been taken, hasn't he?"

He hesitated a moment too long.

"I knew it. Shit. Look, Castiel, please. If you know where Dean might be..."

Castiel shook his head decisively and made to move past her. She blocked his path.

"You can't just abandon him like that!" she cried, furious. "He trusts you, and you're just letting him be thrown to the lions?"

Her voice was accusing, blaming him. It wasn't his fault that Dean was being punished. If he had simply left things alone, ignored Castiel like he'd been doing before...

"What do you think he'd do in your position?!" Charlie continued, voice rising. "He definitely wouldn't skulk in the corner like some cowardly rat!"

That was too much for Castiel. " _What am I supposed to do_?!" he spat, enraged.

Charlie's eyes widened to immense proportions, and she seemed incapable of speech. "I...I..." she blustered in her shock.

Castiel stepped around her and stormed out, abandoning his chance at breakfast in favour of solitude.

In his room, lying on his unmade bed, he seethed. Why were they all so foolish, so hopeful? How could they think that they, patients, were able to do anything? They just couldn't _see_! They insisted upon believing in their idealistic fantasies.

Realising he was becoming unconstructively angry, Castiel forced his mind to divert from its track of frustration at his fellow human beings and bit his lip as he thought of Dean instead. When had they come for him? Castiel had been talking to him himself at supper the previous evening, and after that Castiel had retired to his room, wanting to read. Had they taken him then? Had they stopped him on his way to his room before curfew? Or had they unlocked his door during the night and taken him then?

So many questions, and Castiel frustratingly had the answer to none of them. He wondered what they'd do to Dean, how seriously they would punish him. He wondered how long Dean would be away, and whether it would really be him that walked back into the ward afterwards.

Castiel's temples throbbed, and he rubbed at them in irritation. How was this affecting him so much? Dean was kind, yes, and good. But it had only been two weeks; how could he have let himself become so emotionally invested?

Well, Castiel supposed, it didn't matter how. Not now, anyway. All that mattered was the fact that he didn't want to lose Dean – not so soon. Charlie was right: he had to at least _try._

* * *

Kevin eyed him apprehensively. "This is about Dean, isn't it?" Single-handedly stacking the chairs from the group meeting, Kevin looked vulnerable, cautious – almost scared.

Castiel nodded solemnly, studying the young man. His body language suggested he wanted nothing to do with this, but if Castiel knew Kevin at all, the boy wasn't about to let rules and protocol get in the way of what he believed right.

True to Castiel's prediction, Kevin sighed heavily. "Look, Castiel," he said, "I want to help. I wish I could. Really. But there is _nothing_ I can do. Nada. There's nothing _anyone_ can do, unless we somehow brainwash Naomi to let him out early. I'm sorry, I really am. But all we can do is wait now."

Determined, Castiel shook his head, trying to convey just how important this was.

Kevin closed his eyes, heaving another sigh. "God. What do you expect me to do, then, huh? You won't even _talk_ to me, damn you!"

Castiel's eyes widened slightly, surprised at Kevin's loss of self-control. He was obviously fraying, wearing thin over the huge amounts of secrets and lies and obedience working at Balt's entailed. This realisation worried Castiel slightly. The thought crept into his head that maybe Kevin wouldn't be able to survive Balt's much longer. He certainly wouldn't if he kept up like this.

Kevin unknowingly brought Castiel back to the present. "I'm sorry – sorry..." he said wearily, waving his hand as if to dispel his angry words.

Castiel nodded, making clear that he understood, sympathised. But that didn't mean he was giving in. He waited patiently until Kevin looked up, locking eyes with the smaller man and staring hard, challenging him. Kevin knew very well that he, out of all of the people Castiel considered allies, had the most opportunity and ability to free Dean. If he wouldn't do anything...well. Adieu, Hope.

He could see the thoughts through Kevin's eyes as if through a window. He was conflicted, naturally: job or ethics. How many people in how many situations had been forced to make that choice? And what had they chosen?

Finally, Kevin looked away. "Fine. _Fine._ I'll do my best. I'll talk...no, I won't talk to Naomi, that'll do more harm than anything. I...I might be able to convince Crowley to lie, say his concussion or whatever is worse than he thought, call him for a medical...?" Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Okay, yeah, that's lame. I know. I'm thinking on my feet here, Castiel, what do you expect? I need paper!" Kevin hid his face in his hands, and Castiel imagined he could hear his mind whirring from behind them. "Okay..." he was muttering, "okay..."

Castiel stood motionless, waiting.

Kevin raised his head. "Right. I've got an idea."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, all ears.

"I'll ask Alfie to help too. He's got more weight here than I do, and he's a Balt. I don't think we can get Dean out immediately, though, you have to understand. Best we can do is a shorter term."

Castiel's brow furrowed. His question was clear. _And what if that's not enough?_

Kevin sighed. "You have to understand, Castiel," he repeated, "I've never done anything like this before. Apart from the little stuff, I keep to the rules, even when I don't completely agree with them. It's my job. But this is...big. Dean technically _is_ partly to blame for the fight, and punishment is therefore deserved. We don't even know how long they're planning on keeping him. He could be back tomorrow!" Kevin searched Castiel's face eagerly, trying to find a reply to his words. The older man knew the young trainee found his silence difficult; so did he himself, at times. But he'd made his choice, and so far it had served him well.

"I don't know what you want from me," Kevin sighed finally, "but I'll try my hardest to at least reduce Dean's punishment. I can't make any promises, but I'll try."

Castiel nodded, satisfied. He had no doubt that Kevin would indeed do his best. He was nothing if not loyal to his patients.

"Wait," Kevin called as Castiel turned to leave. "Could you...indulge me for a little bit?"

Castiel quirked his head, eyeing him curiously.

"Just some professional curiosity," Kevin laughed awkwardly. "What...what exactly is your relationship with Dean?"

Castiel's jaw set and his eyebrows became flat, dark lines above his hardened eyes.

Kevin raised his hands. "No, I don't mean to insinuate anything. Like I said, I'm just curious. Because you've never shown attachment like this. I mean, you like some people, that's obvious. But not this much, and definitely not so soon. Alfie says you're even talking to him now." Castiel's sharp eyes picked up a hint of frustration, possibly even jealousy, in Kevin's eyes. The young doctor was irritated that somebody else had managed to get Castiel to open up first, the man noted with mild interest. "So what's the deal?" Kevin asked again. "Why him? And why do you care so much?"

Castiel just turned and left him.

* * *

"Hey, Alfie?" Kevin said, poking his head around his friend's door. "Can I ask you a favour?"

Alfie looked up from his book. "Of course. What do you need?"

Kevin walked in, carefully shutting the door behind him. "It's not completely legal."

Alfie studied him in trepidation. "How not completely legal?"

"Uh...like six out of ten?"

"That's not so bad. What is it?"

Kevin inhaled through his nose and began. "Did you know that Dean Winchester was taken for punishment last night?"

Alfie sighed. "I can already see where this is going. Yes, I did, why?"

"Castiel's practically begged me to get him out somehow."

Alfie looked surprised. "Castiel? I've seen them talking together – actually together, too – but I never thought he'd be that concerned about Dean."

"No, neither did I," Kevin admitted. "Guess that shows what brilliant psychiatrists we are, doesn't it?"

Alfie laughed lightly. "Sure does. So what are you going to do about it? Dean, I mean. Are you going to indulge Castiel and get him out?"

Kevin scowled at him, catching the slightly mocking lilt in his friend's voice. "I thought I would, actually."

"And you need my help."

"Yes."

"You already owe me."

"I know."

Alfie shook his head, smiling. "Fine, fine. I'll help. I quite like Dean, anyway. Somebody would have had to put Gordon in his place at some point. So do you have any ideas about what to do?"

Kevin winced. "I was hoping you could help with that too, actually."

"Really?" Alfie groaned. "I do everything, I swear...but okay. I refuse to ask Naomi; we both know exactly how well that'd go."

Kevin nodded in emphatic agreement. "It's a dumb idea, but I thought maybe we could ask Crowley to call him in for a medical...?" He trailed off at the look on Alfie's face. "Okay, fine. Never mind."

"Naomi isn't stupid," Alfie said seriously, as if Kevin needed reminding. "She won't fall for anything like that. I doubt she'd fall for anything, period. There's only one way to do this."

"And what's that?"

Alfie smiled mischievously. "Take matters into our own hands."

* * *

"They won't cause a fuss," Alfie explained as they strode down the corridors. "At worst, I'll get a scolding and possibly slightly revoked privileges for a bit."

"Wait, just you?" Kevin frowned. "What about me?"

"They won't know anything about you."

Kevin's brow furrowed further. "I'm not letting you take all the responsibility. I encouraged you in the first place."

"But you're just a trainee, it would damage your career much more than it would mine. Anyway, they're my family. What's the worst they can do?" Alfie sounded a lot more cheerful than he looked.

Kevin was sceptical. "But –"

"Shh, we're here. Don't let her see weakness, she feeds off fear."

Kevin rolled his eyes.

"What can I do for you boys?" came a sultry voice. "I heard you coming from three corridors away." A tall girl stepped into the light, her considerable height further exaggerated by her huge heels. Nevertheless, she still looked young enough that Kevin wondered how she'd even managed to get past the application stage for a job in Balt's.

She wasn't wearing uniform of any sort, dressed in a black tank and the shortest shorts Kevin had ever seen. She had an entire salon caked around her eyes, which glittered mischievously from behind her heavy lashes. Kevin usually considered such a look trashy, but on her...

Kevin eyed her up and down appreciatively, before remembering himself and snapping back into professional mode.

"Hey, Delta," said Alfie brightly, seemingly unaffected by Delta's unconventional appearance. "We've come to fetch Dean Winchester."

Delta's smile widened, and she raised one perfectly-shaped, dark eyebrow. "Oh really? Naomi told me he wasn't going to be let out for at least three days."

Alfie's smile froze slightly. "Change of plan."

Kevin took the opportunity to step forward. "If you don't mind, we'll just..."

Delta moved to block his path. "Not so fast there, Hotshot. It's my ass in the frying pan when Naomi finds out."

"I'll take all responsibility," Alfie assured her.

Delta seemed to consider. "Well...I dunno. Naomi's a scary-ass bitch when she wants to be. I'm afraid it's gonna have to cost ya."

Kevin scoffed at the gangster act. On second thought, this girl was definitely trashy. "When the hell are you gonna go shopping anyway?" he demanded. "You're in a mental hospital!"

She fixed him with a disparaging look. "Ever heard of the internet, Shorty?"

Kevin blushed slightly, starting to get angry. Alfie caught his arm subtly.

"Remember what I said," he whispered. "Show no weakness."

Kevin rolled his eyes again, harder. "Seriously? You're gonna give her money?"

"Of course not," Alfie said. To Delta, "Look. You have your job, I have mine. I understand that. But there's going to be a problem if you doing your job starts getting in the way of me doing mine. Or do you want Raphael to find a complaint from Samandriel Balt about you in his in-tray?"

Kevin smirked. Alfie only name-dropped himself as a last resort, and Kevin found it amusing how foreign his friend's real name always sounded.

Delta seethed at the barely-veiled threat. "You're bluffing. You're breaking the rules, doing this."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," Alfie said, smiling. "Do you want to take the risk?"

Delta glared at him. "Fine. Do whatever the fuck you like. But remember: my name does not come into this – anywhere!"

"Done," Alfie told her. "Now open the door."

She obeyed, still scowling. Kevin and Alfie stepped forward into Room 5 for the first time. It was a very unassuming room, really. Just a bed, chair and toilet. There were no torture instruments, no disgusting gore...just blandness.

Dean Winchester was curled up on the corner of the bed, rubbing his ears. He looked up in shock when Kevin spoke.

"Come on, Dean. Let's get you out of here."

* * *

Castiel did not move from his mattress when he heard a knock on his door. It was likely Charlie yet again, with a needless apology, or Andy, or someone else equally as provoking.

"Cas?" a voice called out in a whisper.

Castiel lurched upright and crossed the small room with two large strides. He wrenched the door open and stopped, breathless, hair a mess, and eyes wide.

"Dean," he breathed.

Dean looked haggard; he hadn't slept the night before – though whether that was due to already being imprisoned or dread of becoming so, Castiel could not deduce. He somehow looked smaller in his white pyjamas, turned inward and collapsing in on himself. Castiel swallowed the nauseating suspicion that this wasn't Dean at all and pulled him inside by his sleeve, forcing himself not to recoil when Dean's shoulder collided with his.

He led Dean over to the bed and sat him down. Dean seemed grateful of it, his tired, puffy eyes looking up at Castiel with such immense relief that the man himself felt a bit lighter, his previous worry and guilt slowly ebbing away.

"Kevin got you out," was all Castiel could bring himself to say.

Dean nodded. "He told me you practically blackmailed him into it. Without saying a word and all." And then Dean smiled, and Castiel could suddenly breathe easily again, because this was Dean, just as he'd left him. They'd been right in the nick of time.

"You really have Charlie to thank for that," Castiel admitted without too much shame. The next words, however, were far harder to force out. "I...if I had been left to myself, I would have likely done nothing."

Dean nodded, staring hard at the blanket. "I understand. I didn't expect anything; you're just a patient here. And yet you did do something." Dean's eyes lifted to meet Castiel's again. "I..." a shaky breath, "thank you. I don't think I could've managed any longer. It sounds pathetic; I wasn't even there for a day. But...I wasn't as strong as I thought."

"What did they do?" Castiel asked softly.

Dean shook his head, his breath stuttering. "No. I – I can't. Cas, please, I just..."

Castiel touched Dean's shoulder lightly, just for a second, but it was enough to shock Dean into silence. "It will make it better to talk. I will be able to share your burden."

"Like you can go on about talking making it better," Dean scoffed.

Castiel merely continued to look him in the eyes, his own so intense that he could practically feel Dean becoming uncomfortable under his gaze.

Finally, Dean broke. "Alright, alright! It's just...you're gonna think I'm crazy."

"We're all crazy here, Dean," Castiel reminded him gently.

Dean closed his eyes and inhaled. "Okay. They came for me at some point during the night. I think about eleven? The rooms hadn't been locked long. I couldn't sleep, too busy fretting like an idiot. But yeah, they came. Naomi and a couple of orderlies. They said to come with them, wouldn't say where they were taking me. We went to the staff wing, and then took a lift down. I didn't even know there was a basement! Sure didn't mention it in the tour...but anyway. We got to this room, pretty boring, just concrete and a bed, really. I thought that was going to be it, that I was just going to be in isolation like Benny." Dean broke off for a second, rubbing his forehead hard.

"But you weren't," Castiel prompted gently.

Dean shook his head. "No. When the orderlies left, Naomi stayed. She told me why I was there, some shit about disturbing the peaceful environment or something, and then she told me to sit down. And then – this is where it gets crazy." Dean huffed out a breath, intertwining his shaking hands.

Castiel inclined his head minutely, gesturing Dean to continue.

"She...I heard this kind of...buzzing. Real high-pitched. Like tear-your-eardrums-out high. And it was _loud._ I could have sworn my ears were bleeding. But Naomi didn't seem to hear it, she just started talking, and talking..."

"About what?"

Dean seemed to slump over, defeated and exhausted. " _I don't know_ ," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I can't remember. I can't remember a _damn_ thing! But while she was talking...I knew it. I knew what she was talking about. And it _hurt_ , Cas, and the noise was killing me, and then I started seeing light everywhere – it was _pouring_ out of her eyes! – and I couldn't handle it, I can't –" Dean's voice choked off and he doubled over, shuddering violently as tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

Castiel stood by, helpless and concerned, even frightened. He needed to help Dean, and yet he had absolutely no idea what he needed, how to help.

"Should I call...?" he started hesitantly, taking a step back.

"No!" Dean shouted all of a sudden, making to grab Castiel by the hand. The other man pulled back harshly before he could stop himself, and Dean dropped his arm helplessly, as if someone had cut its strings. "Just...stay with me," he begged.

Castiel felt his heart ache as he looked at Dean, shivering, terrified, ashamed of his panic and unable to stop it.

"Very well," he murmured, sitting next to Dean on the bed, far too close for him, but if Dean needed human contact, Castiel didn't doubt at this point that he would have ripped his own arm off to give it to him. Tentatively, Castiel reached for Dean's hand, picking it up gingerly and enfolding it in his own hands, which for once were warmer than Dean's.

At Dean's astounded expression, Castiel explained. "It's not so bad if I initiate contact. It's my own choice, then. I'm in charge."

Dean nodded shakily, slowly curling his hand and intertwining his fingers with Castiel's. "Thank you," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Castiel told him. "It's the least I can do, and you would do so much more for me in my position. I am just relieved to have you back as yourself," he stated honestly.

Dean smiled a watery smile and squeezed Castiel's hand in a way that would have made his normal self curl his lip and scoff.

* * *

Castiel sat in his chair, quietly reading, letting Dean get some 'sleep'. It was half past three – they were missing group, but somehow Castiel didn't think Kevin would mind.

Dean lay on the bed, eyes shut tight and mind racing. Sleep was the furthest thing from his thoughts.

 _Isn't this familiar? This sense of missing memories?_ Dean knew he should have them, knew he should remember what Naomi had talked on and on about. They should have been right there. And yet all he could remember was the light and the noise and the pain.

It was still in his ears, that horrible buzzing, trying to stop him from thinking. It nearly succeeded, but Dean forced his way through it. He knew this emptiness. He was certain of it.

Then he came to a sudden realisation. That time, walking back from the staff wing with Castiel after talking to Ellen for the first time. Right there, in the corridor, he'd remembered something. Something awful. And it'd been so clear, he'd been right _there_ , in the memory.

But now he couldn't remember a thing about it.

And again, Dean realised, when he'd tried to recall his old friends before Balt's. He could remember their names, basic features if he tried. But he couldn't remember the _people._ Who had they been? What had they sounded like? _Why couldn't he remember_?!

 _Fuck_.

Something was wrong with the place. Something deeply wrong.

Dean opened his eyes, the coloured light swimming over his vision indicating exactly how hard he'd been squeezing them shut. "Cas...?" His mouth was dry, voice dryer.

Castiel looked up from his book in concern. "I thought you were sleeping," he said, even though Dean knew he hadn't thought any such thing.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean's voice sounded flat, even to his own ears. He was still staring up at the ceiling, unable to bring himself to meet Castiel's eyes.

"Of course, Dean."

"You say you can't remember anything before Balt's."

"Yes?"

"But was there ever a point when you could?"

"I don't follow."

"Do you remember any times that you could remember life before?" Dean asked, frustration leaking into his tone of voice.

Castiel frowned. "Surely if I could recall the memory, I would know what life had been like," he stated in mild confusion.

Dean shook his head, still avidly examining the cracks in the ceiling. "No, I don't mean remembering the memory, I mean remembering the _remembering_."

Castiel's confusion tangibly increased. "I still don't follow. But Dean: I don't remember anything. I never have."

Dean nodded mutely, drawing in a deep breath. So Castiel wasn't like him, didn't have these frustrating, gaping holes in his mind. Was it just Dean, then? No one else seemed to have the problem: Charlie remembered, Kevin remembered...

Was his brain giving up on him? The thought sent ice trails shooting through Dean's body.

"Dean?"

Dean started, abruptly drawn out of his thoughts. He realised his nails were digging painfully into his palms and unclenched his fists gradually, stretching the tendons.

"May I asked you a question now?" Castiel asked.

Dean swallowed. "Sure," he said, voice weaker than he would have liked. "Fire away."

A brief silence. Then,

"Why did you wish to know?"

Dean stayed silent, eyes never leaving the white ceiling above him. Castiel's brows drew together minutely, and he pursed his lips, arm coming up to curl around his torso. Dean noticed nothing. Hesitantly, Castiel unfurled his arm and reached out tentatively towards the other man.

"Dean –"

A knock on the door.

Dean shot upright, nearly concussing himself yet again on the headboard. Castiel's arm shot back to his side, and he paled slightly, standing up from the chair and eyeing the door in panic. Dean scrambled upright behind him, also staring fixedly at the door. Was it Naomi or some other staff member here to bring him back to that room?

 _Crap,_ thought Dean, _so much for a hidden friendship._

"Guys? I know you're in there." It was Kevin.

Breathing a shared sigh of relief, the pair walked towards the door. Castiel opened it, revealing the small trainee, who was rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Nice to see you two at group today," he greeted pointedly. Dean had the decency to look guilty. Castiel's countenance remained stony.

Kevin glanced up at the suspicious man. "Yeah, sorry, Castiel. Your thoughts are probably on the right track: you're not getting off scot-free, Dean, sorry." His face was grave, worried. A new dread suppurated in Dean's stomach.

"Naomi's furious," Kevin continued. "Not at you directly, but anyway. Don't worry, you won't be going back to Room 5 – Alfie's managed to secure you in for something else. Naomi won't be able to change anything without a decent-sized disruption; the arrangements have been made."

"Arrangements?" Dean asked in trepidation. "What arrangements?"

"Crowley, I'm afraid," Kevin told him with a wince. "You'll be his skivvy until Naomi's cooled off. It shouldn't be more than a week, so don't sweat too much."

Dean nodded, relief prominent on his features. He could deal with one sarky doctor. "When will I work?" he asked.

"Whenever he needs you, which I'm pretty sure will be always," Kevin informed him.

Dean scoffed. "Lazy bastard."

"No comment," Kevin chuckled. "But I think he likes you, so it might not be too bad."

Dean was incredulous. "He _likes_ me?! Kevin, dude, I think you're confusing me with someone else."

"No, seriously!" Kevin was laughing outright now. "You should see the way he treats people he doesn't like. Anyway, you'd better hop along before Naomi tries to find you. She's grilling Alfie at the minute, I think, but it won't be long..."

"Right," Dean said, making to leave the room. Castiel caught his sleeve, surprising Dean to a stop.

Kevin took one look at them and made his excuses, hurrying off down the corridor.

Dean observed Castiel almost as scrutinously as Castiel was observing him. "What?" he asked finally.

Castiel shook his head mildly, letting go of Dean's shirt. "Never mind. Keep out of Naomi's way for a bit."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're making this almost as dramatic as last night. I expect you to come and see me, preferably often, else I might actually murder this fucking doctor."

Castiel smirked. "As you wish," he said, stepping back inside his room and shutting the door.

Dean stood in the corridor for a second before marching off to the infirmary, where Crowley greeted him as George and, seemingly delighted by Dean's disgruntled reaction, proceeded to do so for the rest of the day.


	8. Chapter 8

"Come on, George, put your back into it!"

"Shut up, you fucking limey! How am I supposed to do this with one arm anyway?!"

"Not my problem," Crowley told him unconcernedly, taking another drag from his cigarette. He blew a smoke ring in Dean's direction. "Keep going. I want that sink spotless."

Dean resisted the urge to throw the bloody rag in his smug face and rubbed at a particularly stubborn stain. "Who did you even kill in this basin? It looks like something out of Saw."

"Indeed. Keep going."

Finally, Dean managed to rub the stain away. "Fucking finally," he huffed, relieved. "I can't believe you're making me do this shit, not even mentioning my arm. Or my head. Or my ribs." Still scowling, Dean couldn't help but groan in pleasure as he stretched his back, feeling the vertebrae snap back into place.

Crowley shrugged. "Your own fault," he said brightly. "Shouldn't have picked a fight with Tall Dark And Furious."

Dean glared and cracked his knuckles, loudly. Crowley winced. "I keep telling you, Winchester, one more time and I will remove those fingers with a blunt scalpel."

Dean just smiled sweetly.

There was a knock on the door. Hester, an orderly, stuck her head round. "Lisa's had another nosebleed, Fergus," she said.

Crowley tutted and stood up, surreptitiously stubbing out his cigarette. "Bring her in, then."

Hester shooed the dark-haired woman inside, wasting no time in leaving. She shut the door so quickly behind her that the leg of her trouser suit nearly caught in the jamb.

Lisa, one of the brunette pair that always sat by the window to eat, stood with her hands cupped under her nose, blood dripping through her fingers and onto her shirt. She didn't look too concerned.

"Any particular causes this time?" Crowley asked her, briskly leading her over to Dean's spotless sink and motioning for her to dump her gory handful into it.

Lisa shook her head carefully, watching the gloopy mess crawl towards the plug in morbid fascination. "Nah," she said, voice thick. "I was in the middle of lunch, as well. Ellen's not going to appreciate my washing up."

Dean blinked. "Wait, lunch?" He turned to Crowley. "You told me I could leave for my meals!"

Crowley shrugged. "You didn't excuse yourself, I didn't want to interrupt your fun."

Dean's hands clenched into fists. "How was I supposed to fucking know it was lunch time? I've been hungry all day, seeing as you dragged my away from my breakfast too!"

"There's a clock on my desk," Crowley told him helpfully.

"And how exactly was I supposed to look at it when I had my head in a basin, huh, _Fergus_?"

Lisa snorted a sightly disgusting mixture of blood and mucus into the sink. "Fergus?" she said, amused.

Crowley scowled. "Be quiet. Both of you."

Lisa and Dean exchanged looks, the former's eyes glinting mischievously above all the blood smeared around her nose. Dean wondered if she was hot underneath all of it; he'd never really noticed her before. She and her best friend Meg just seemed to fade into the background.

"So," Dean said, deciding that, attractive or not, any lay was worth the effort. "Do you get nosebleeds often?" Not the most romantic topic of conversation, but definitely the most natural.

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Often enough. It's a pain in the ass."

Crowley hummed, inviting himself into the conversation. "Hence the anaemia," he said, handing Lisa a wad of tissue. "Clean yourself up, love, and I'll just get the sphygmomanometer." He strolled over to the cupboard and rummaged around.

"The _what_?" Dean asked, seventy percent certain that Crowley had just made up the word.

"That blood pressure pump thing," Lisa supplied, dabbing at her nose.

"Oh, right."

Crowley recovered the cuff and brought it over. "Sleeve up, please."

Lisa looked at her filthy hands.

"Oh, come on then, George. May as well make yourself useful." Crowley beckoned him over impatiently.

"George?" Lisa asked as Dean reluctantly shuffled over. "I thought your name was Dean."

"It is – don't ask," Dean advised her, gently rolling up her shirt sleeve. She was quite tanned for a mental patient; maybe she was of Italian descent. Dean had always had a thing for sexy Europeans.

"Bit higher," Crowley ordered. Dean obliged, and when the sleeve was at a satisfactory height, he waved Dean away. Lisa ignored the cuff being wrapped around her bicep in favour of wetting the tissue and trying to wipe away some of the drying blood. Dean handed her another handful. "Here," he said, "you look like you need it."

She smiled at him gratefully.

Crowley placed a stethoscope in the crook of her elbow and began pumping the bulb. Presently, he stopped and checked the gauge. Then, he re-inflated the cuff and removed it.

"Not much change in blood pressure from last time," he said. "Keep taking the medication and everything should be fine."

"Thanks," said Lisa gratefully. "Sorry about the mess."

Crowley smiled sweetly. "No problem, I'm sure George will immensely enjoy clearing up."

Dean groaned quietly. The doctor ignored him. "Has your nose stopped leaking?" Crowley asked, shoving the measuring device back into the cupboard.

Lisa contemplated. "I think so," she said eventually.

"Alright then, sit down and clean yourself up. I think I have a spare shirt in here somewhere." He began rummaging in the drawers.

Dean went to sit next to Lisa, gently taking the tissue from her hand. "Allow me," he said, a smile playing at his lips. "I can see where to clean."

Lisa smiled, and he set to work dabbing gently at the congealing mess. It took a bit of water and a considerably larger amount of tissue, but eventually she was clean.

"There," he said in satisfaction. "Now we can actually see your pretty face."

Lisa giggled at the same time as Crowley made vomiting noises. "At least be subtle, will you?" he moaned. "Then maybe I'd be able to pretend that you aren't making an idiot of yourself. Anyway, what'd your boyfriend think?"

Dean rolled his eyes, and Lisa covered her mouth in amusement. "Of course," she said teasingly. "How could I forget you and Castiel are engaged!"

Dean choked. "Who the hell told you that?!" he demanded.

Lisa shrugged, chuckling. "Word of mouth. You two aren't exactly being subtle."

Dean sighed. "For the last time, he is _not_ my boyfriend. I'm not even gay!"

"You don't have to be, George," Crowley helpfully reminded. Dean flicked two fingers at his back, causing Lisa to almost choke on her own laughter.

Dean smiled wryly at her. "He's been like that all day," he said in a low whisper. "I swear, one more hour and one of us won't be coming out of here alive."

"Well, I have my bets on Crowley. All British people are badasses, aren't they?" Lisa replied equally quietly.

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "And does that mean I can't be?"

"Alright, when you two are completely finished flirting, Lisa: you're fine now. Leave. And George: I advise you keep it in your pants. Your boyfriend might get jealous."

"He's _not_ my boyfriend!" Dean cried. "He's not even here!"

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Dean glanced their way.

"Oh. Hey, Cas."

Castiel shook his head, rolled his eyes and stepped inside the infirmary.

"I guess I'll be going, then," Lisa said briskly, flashing a cheeky smile at Dean.

"You really don't have to," Dean said meaningfully. "Really."

"Yes she does," Crowley said, ushering her out of the room. "Hop along and find your other half now, okay?" He slammed the door and drew the blind. "Good lord," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "Having so many people in here at once is exhausting."

No one replied, and Crowley looked up, irritated. "Okay then, Angel. Why are you here? You know you need a permission slip if you're unaccompanied."

Castiel wordlessly handed him a slip of orange paper. Crowley scanned it.

"How in hell did you manage to convince someone you had a – oh, Kevin." Crowley smirked. "You've really got him wrapped around your little finger, haven't you?"

Castiel regarded him without amusement.

"Well, whatever." Crowley strolled back behind his desk and leaned back in the chair. "You're quieter than most, so I suppose you can stay."

Castiel nodded politely and fished a book out of the back of his trousers. Dean looked at him in disbelief.

"Hey," he said, injured. "You're supposed to be here to keep me company, not ignore me in favour of..." he checked the title, "whoever the fuck Günter Grass is."

"Actually," Crowley said, "I think you'll find you won't have much time to socialise. Go clear up that mess in the sink."

Dean heaved a deep sigh and obeyed, _again_. He was almost wondering whether he'd have preferred the previous from of punishment. Scoffing inwardly at the very thought, Dean paused to rub his ear absent-mindedly, then set to scrubbing the basin. Finally, after about half an hour, he was done. Back and ribs aching, he eased himself into the chair next to Castiel.

"So, how's the book?" he asked.

Castiel raised a hand and made a _so-so_ gesture.

"Better or worse than talking to me?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow, set the book on his lap and looked pointedly at Dean, then Crowley, then back at Dean.

Crowley noticed this, and was apparently frustrated. "Oh, really?" he whined. "I've already heard you speak, Thursday, there's really no need to be so secretive. In case you hadn't noticed, I don't care about many things, and this is one of them. More importantly, this silence is eating at my eardrums. Either talk or leave."

Castiel nodded and promptly stood.

"Oi, wait!" Dean called, grabbing the back of his shirt before Castiel could start making his way to the door. "You're actually going to listen to him? You have to stay, I'm bored out of my mind!"

"You wouldn't be if you were actually working," Crowley muttered under his breath.

Dean glared at him. "Fuck off." To Castiel, he said, "Seriously, Cas, just until dinner. I can go down with you then." He shot an evil look at Crowley. "This dick's been starving me. I've only had half a bowl of cornflakes all day."

"Again, George, not my problem!" Crowley sang around what had to be his tenth cigarette that day. He hurriedly spat out the little stick when a very distinctive silhouette appeared behind the thin blind.

Naomi didn't bother to knock, but immediately turned the handle and marched in. Castiel sat down like lightening, shoving the book behind the chair.

There was an agonising silence for a few moments while Naomi regarded them all sharply, her eyes lingering especially long upon Dean, whose hands curled into the lining of the chair as an echo of the buzz vibrated in his eardrums.

"Castiel," Naomi said suddenly, her voice sharp as a blade. To his credit, Castiel didn't even jump, unlike Dean (to his embarrassment). "What reason do you have being here?"

Castiel met her suspicious gaze without fear, until Crowley cleared his throat politely and said, "I have a slip saying that he's had quite a bad earache. I was just about to look him over."

"Well, best get on with it, then." Naomi smiled frigidly.

Crowley nodded briskly, standing up and grabbing a strange implement on his way to Castiel's seat. When there, he motioned for the man to tilt his head to the side and inserted the otoscope into his ear, making sure not to touch Castiel more than necessary.

While Crowley was examining Castiel for an imaginary infection, Dean chanced a look at Naomi and immediately regretted it. She was staring at him as a hawk watches a mouse that has narrowly escaped the first hunting swoop. Dean felt alarmingly small and helpless, not to mention annoyed at himself that he was letting himself be intimidated by an uppity lady who couldn't have been much taller than five foot seven.

Finally, Naomi spoke, and Dean felt Castiel jump next to him, caught the badly-concealed look of alarm he shot Dean, and heard Crowley's stifled swear as the otoscope slipped out of Castiel's ear.

"How are you after our session yesterday, Mr Winchester?" she asked benignly, her eyes like carved ice.

Dean swallowed. "Fine, thanks," he said shortly.

Naomi nodded stiffly. "I see. Anyhow, I came to remind you of our meeting tomorrow. Just in case you had any thoughts of forgetting." Her smile was as rigid as if it had been wrought of metal.

Dean felt his face drain. He'd completely forgotten about his arranged meetings with Naomi. It seemed Castiel had forgotten as well; Dean forced his face not to show any of his shock as he felt warm fingers brush deliberately over his.

"Nope, wouldn't dream of it," he answered Naomi, answering her smile with a carving of his own.

Naomi's eyebrow jumped slightly before she turned back to Crowley, who had just finished 'examining' Castiel's ear. "Well?"

Crowley twisted his hands around the otoscope. "There is a slight inflammation in the ear canal. I'll prescribe some medicine immediately."

Naomi continued to look at him, then at Castiel. She never blinked.

"Very well," she said finally. "I do not believe there is any more reason for me to keep you." She turned to leave. Just before she stepped through the door, she turned around. "Oh, and Mr Crowley?"

"Yes?"

"Tobacco is strictly forbidden on these premises, as you well know. Remove it forthwith." She left, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Crowley let out a huff of relief, leaning heavily against his desk. "Jesus," he whistled. "That was tense and a half. Honestly, you flirt with that woman once and she never forgives you."

Dean didn't bother voicing his disbelief at Crowley's supposed previous relationship (or lack of one) with the Steel Lady, of all people. Instead, he covered Castiel's fingers more firmly with his own hand. He could still feel the jitters from Naomi's impromptu visit; whose they were was an entirely different matter. Castiel seemed to have a calming effect on him, and Dean felt the tension drain out of his body, only leaving behind the constant knot at the nape of his neck. He rubbed at it nervously.

Crowley walked back over to them, then, and Castiel slipped his hand out from underneath Dean's.

"This is for your supposed infection," the doctor said, looking slightly cheesed off as he held out a sheet of pills. "I tell you, she knew I was lying. You owe me for this, Angel. Don't take any of those pills. Pop a few a day and wash them down the sink, then give me back the rest of the sheet. I'll write you a form."

Castiel nodded in gratitude, though his face didn't move an inch. After Crowley had given him the signed piece of paper that permitted him to be in possession of medicaments, he stood up, glancing at Dean and tapping his wrist.

"Dinner time?" Dean asked.

Nod.

"Thank fuck." Dean stood up, stretching out his back. "Lost a bit of my appetite, but I'm still ready to eat a small city. Let's go."

"I won't expect you for a couple of hours after lunch tomorrow, then, George!" Crowley called after them, "But don't think for a second you're getting out of morning duties!"


	9. Chapter 9

When Dean woke up on the third day since his aborted punishment, it was with that incessant noise, that hideous, constant _buzzing_. It had never completely left his ears, always at the back of his thoughts somewhere, infuriating him, giving him a constant headache. It retreated somewhat when he was busy, and Dean was trying his damnedest to be so.

He'd thought that it would fade after a few hours at first, then a few days, but now he worried with a horrible sinking dread that it would never leave. He'd tried staying as close to Castiel as possible (being around the man always seemed to help with everything else), but if anything, that had only made it _worse_.

Hence, Dean didn't knock on the door to Castiel's room on his way to the canteen, as he'd done the morning before. Instead, he strolled briskly down to the laundry room, dumped his dirty clothes and hurried to the dining room. He poured himself a bowlful of soup for a change, and looked around for a place to sit. His eye was drawn to Lisa, who was sitting opposite Meg in the corner. She smiled at him, and Dean accepted the unspoken invitation.

"Hey," he greeted as he sat down.

"Hi," Lisa replied.

Meg just looked sour. "And who in hell are you?" she demanded brusquely.

Lisa slapped her lightly. "Don't be like that, Meg! Believe it or not, other people can be nice too."

"Doesn't mean I have to be nice to them," the other woman grumbled.

Dean hesitated slightly before deciding he'd better introduce himself and try to get on this She-Cactus' good side. "I'm Dean Winchester. Me and Lisa formally met yesterday," he said conversationally.

Lisa thankfully filled in. "Yeah, Dean helped clean me up after that bloodbath at lunch, do you remember?"

Meg rolled her eyes. "How could I forget? You leaked all over the table. Hester's face was a picture," she giggled, looking mischievous. Turning back to Dean, she said, "I suppose I might give you a chance. Clarence seems to think you're decent, and I generally respect his opinion."

Dean frowned. "Clarence?"

"Castiel," Lisa told him. "It's something to do with that movie."

Dean didn't mention that he had no idea which exact movie she meant. "Why does everyone in this place feel the need to give everyone nicknames?!" he asked, exasperated. "First that insane doctor, now you!"

Meg scowled at him, and Dean belatedly realised he probably should have held his tongue.

"Meg's not like Crowley," Lisa told him, her voice a touch cooler than before. "The only person she refers to with a nickname is Castiel. She has a bit of a crush on him," she added in hushed tones.

"I do not!" Meg looked affronted. "He's just a hot piece of ass in this godforsaken dungeon filled with cretins. What am I supposed to do?"

Dean cleared his throat, feeling slightly awkward at the undeniable _girl-talk_ going on around him. Lisa was attractive, yes, but possibly not quite such good company as Castiel. Remembering his friend, Dean suddenly recalled the buzz as well. He'd completely forgotten about it, he realised. He blinked. Was it going away, or was banal conversation a cure? Shaking his had minutely to try and rid himself of the noise (even though he knew it would do no good) Dean tried to redirect the conversation.

"So..." he floundered, struggling to think of a topic. "Uh..."

"Yeah. So," Meg said quickly, a glint forming in her eye that Dean decidedly did not like the look of. "What'd going on between you and Clarence, anyway? I never pegged you for a fairy, though now I think about it, you are a bit too butch..."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Dean demanded. Lisa giggled unhelpfully.

Meg continued. "Don't pretend, Winchester, there's obviously _something_ going on. You two make eyes at each other all the time!"

"Why does everyone assume we're together?" Dean cried. "I'm not gay!"

"And? I'm not usually straight, but I'd switch for Clarence too."

Dean slammed his head onto the table. "Can we change the subject please?"

"Ah, avoidance!" Meg said with satisfaction. "Incriminating yourself with your own body language!"

Dean didn't raise his head.

Lisa finally decided to stop killing herself laughing and step in. "Never mind, Meg, it's not like we _need_ any confirmation. It's obvious enough as it is."

Dean's head shot up. "What the hell are you going on about?!" he cried, an accusing glare on his face.

Lisa shook her head, still smirking.

Dean suddenly became away of Meg staring over his shoulder. "What?" he said, turning in his chair.

Castiel had entered the room. Seeing Lisa's scrutinising gaze in the corner of his eye, Dean promptly turned his back again. "Look at her lovesick face," he said to Lisa, gesturing to Meg. "Poor girl."

Meg shot him a poisonous look. "I'll have you know that the only lovesick person here is you, whether for Clarence or Lisa. Either one's equally obvious."

This time, Lisa blushed right along with Dean. "We're not..." she began, before Meg cut her off.

"He's looking around for a place to sit," she commentated, her eyes fixed on 'Clarence'. "Ah! He's noticed us." She hurriedly looked down at her plate. Risking a glance out of the corner of her eye after a few seconds, she raised her head again. "He's looked away. Looks like he going to sit by himself, next to the window. Aren't you going to rescue him from his solitude, O Knight Winchester?" she teased.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"

Meg shrugged. "He doesn't trust me. Not like he does you, at any rate. No point me going over. Anyway, sexy as he is, I infinitely prefer Lisa's company. Apart from when she turns into a giggling teenager around hulks like _you_." She shot her friend a pointed glance.

Lisa opened her mouth as if to object, but as she raised her eyes she caught sight of the clock face. "Um, Dean," she said instead.

"What is it?"

"Exactly what time are you supposed to be at Crowley's?"

Dean thought. "Around half eight, I think he said. Why?"

Lisa grimaced and pointed to the clock. Dean glanced over and swore, gulping down his still scalding soup. Standing up, he hurriedly bade the two women goodbye and speed-walked out of the door.

Crowley didn't seem too bothered by his slight lateness, for which Dean was ever grateful. He was given the job of alphabetically ordering all the medication in the cupboard, which didn't sound so bad to Dean at first. He quickly changed his opinion when he opened the doors.

"How the fuck do you ever find anything?!" he cried, incredulous.

Crowley shrugged. "Dumb luck, I suppose. Anyway, I've been meaning to sort it out for months now. May as well take advantage of the free labour." He shot a rather evil grin at Dean.

Dean groaned, running a hand through his hair. "It'll take twice as long with this sling," he complained, tugging on the blasted thing.

"You can probably take your arm out of it to do this," Crowley told him. "It's hardly heavy lifting. Anyway, your wrist should have mostly healed by now; it was only a strain."

Dean sighed and slipped his arm out of the sling, moving it up and down gingerly. It felt odd, to someone who had never had a limb out of action for an extensive period of time.

"Well, get to work, then," Crowley urged, putting his feet up on his desk and closing his eyes. Dean growled at him quietly.

Then, the door opened. Dean jumped slightly, and Crowley banged his shin quickly removing his legs from he desk.

"Buggering – oh, it's only you, Angel. Fancy knocking next time? It's your tongue out of action, not your hands."

Castiel regarded the doctor coolly before turning to Dean.

"Hey," Dean greeted, rubbing his ear absent-mindedly. "Sleep well?"

Castiel shrugged, not bothering with pleasantries. He gestured to Dean's arm, a curious expression on his face.

"Crowley said it was okay for me to work without the sling today," Dean told him.

Castiel nodded in understanding, making his way to a chair and sitting himself down.

"Oi!" Crowley snapped. "No way am I having you in here today, you little bastard. Naomi'll serve me my testicles as meatballs if she catches you here again!"

"Come on," Dean tried to reason, "she's not going to come here two days in a row."

"Bet your life?" Crowley challenged.

"Do I have to?" Dean himself wasn't completely sure that he didn't.

Crowley snorted, getting up. "Unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable. Tell you what: I need to go get some papers. I'll walk slowly. You two can have your little make-out session, but when I come back, I want _you –_ " he jabbed a finger at Castiel, "– gone." He marched to the door, then hesitated. "Don't be too noisy," he added, "and if I find even a trace of bodily fluids of any description, I will personally have your heads."

Dean dragged his hands over his face. "How many goddamn times am I going to have to tell you _we are not fucking_?!"

"As many as you like, sweetheart," Crowley told him cheerfully. The door shut behind him.

There was a brief silence.

Castiel broke it. "Everyone seems very certain that we are in a sexual relationship."

"You think?" Dean snapped before he reined himself in. "Nah, whatever. Let them think what they like. Who cares anyway?"

"You care," Castiel said, "You always do."

Dean looked at him in irritation that was only exacerbated by the steadily increasing volume of the noise. "Thanks for your input."

Castiel blinked. "Dean, are you feeling well?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" Dean said, hearing his own defensive tone. He rubbed his ears violently. That _fucking_ noise!

Castiel continued to look concerned, to Dean's immense annoyance. "You've been different. Ever since your punishment. You've been getting steadily more changed every day."

"And?" Dean snarled. "You were expecting it, weren't you? Me not coming back." He shook his head violently, trying desperately to dislodge the buzz that was only becoming louder and louder.

Castiel's eyes fixed themselves to the floor. "Yes," he said quietly. "But I hoped."

"And fat lot of good it did us, too," Dean said scathingly, barely hearing himself. The buzzing was almost unbearable. Dean covered his ears, sure they were bleeding.

Castiel was still looking at the floor, posture stiff and hurt. "I apologise for any..." he looked up. "Dean?"

He took an anxious step forward, stopping abruptly when Dean cried out in agony. "Stop!" he screamed, clawing at his ears. "Just stop it!"

Castiel took another stuttering step, then sank to his knees, hands hovering uselessly. "Dean? Dean!" he screamed.

Dean let out another wrenching yell, his fingers digging so hard into his skull that blood was dripping down his neck. Castiel braced himself for the inevitable onslaught and grabbed both of Dean's wrists, forcing them away from his face. As predicted, Dean struggled against him, tried to hit him, scramble away, kicking at Castiel violently. Castiel held on resolutely, restraining the thrashing arms, trying to fight through the nausea that so much violent contact was causing. Dean was still shouting, eyes rammed shut and tears leaking out of the corners. He jerked his bad arm roughly in Castiel's grip and screamed.

Castiel was pale and wide-eyed, his breath laboured and body trembling. He was terrified – seeing Dean like this was infinitely worse than the hollow man that had come to him those few nights ago.

"What did they do to you?" Castiel half-begged, barely audible even to himself over Dean's screams.

He heard heavy footfalls racing towards the door. It flew open.

"What the hell is –" Crowley broke off in horror as he took in the scene in front of him. Dean's screams grew louder, his struggling more desperate.

"What are you doing?!" Crowley shouted over him, the papers previously in his hands bursting across the floor. "Let him go!"

Castiel was frozen, overwhelmed, panicked. He looked frantically up at Crowley, eyes petrified and imploring.

"Let him _go_!" Crowley roared. " _Now_!"

Finally, the words sank in, and Castiel withdrew his hands from Dean's wrists as if he'd been scorched. Crowley rushed to Dean's side, kicking away a nearby chair.

"Get everything out of the way," he ordered.

Still shaking violently, Castiel did as he was told, pushing back the chairs, the desk and the wheeled bed. Task completed, he sank back to the floor, watching with agonised helplessness as Dean continued to thrash and scream, clawing at his ears.

Crowley gripped Dean's head between unwavering hands, ignoring the flailing punches and slaps. He firmly began to tilt Dean's head back until the patient lay flat on the ground, body still convulsing jerkily. He placed a hand on Dean's brow and another under his chin, lifting it still further.

"His airways aren't blocked," he said methodically, "but I won't be able to get him onto his side. We need to calm him down. Get me a damp cloth."

Castiel forced his legs to carry him to the sink. He grabbed a cleaning rag (thankfully unsoiled) and held it under the tap. When it was ready, Crowley removed the hand that rested on Dean's brow.

"Hold it there," he said, " _gently_. You mustn't restrain him."

Castiel laid the cloth over Dean's sweat-drenched forehead, willing his hands not to shake. Dean jumped at the contrast of temperatures, but did not struggle any further against it. After what seemed like an age, his violent seizure receded into a constant, but slight trembling. Crowley breathed out a steady breath through his nose and gently pulled the arm closest to him to rest at a right angle to Dean's body, palm up. He moved the other arm across Dean's torso, resting the back of the hand against Dean's cheek.

"Hold it there," he said. Castiel obediently took the hand from him, nearly retching at the feel of the sweat-slicked flesh.

Still careful, Crowley bent Dean's left leg and pulled it gently towards him. To both men's relief, Dean rolled onto his side, tremors lessening further. Castiel sagged as his breath left him, his body shaking uncontrollably.

Crowley wiped a hand across his face. "Right. He's less likely to choke on anything now. Keep your hand there." Glancing at Castiel, he added in some trepidation. "You're not going to go his way, are you?"

Castiel shook his head, even as he involuntarily gagged, stomach heaving.

Crowley swore colourfully, grabbing a bowl that had fallen on the floor in the commotion. "Let go of him, then, I'll do it."

Castiel shook his head, moaning as it only made the world spin faster. His sight was becoming fringed with oscillating lights.

"You have a touch phobia," he heard Crowley hiss. "Now _let go_." He pulled at Castiel's sleeve.

"Dean –" Castiel choked.

"He. Will. Be. Fine." Crowley finally tugged Castiel's hand from under Dean's cheek, quickly replacing it with his own. Castiel made a grab for the bowl, throwing up violently all over his own hands.

Through his ringing ears, he heard Crowley groan, "I hate my job."

* * *

Dean's eyes opened slowly and stared up at the ceiling in confusion. This wasn't his room: it was too white, too clean.

He tried to scramble upright, but cried out in pain as he put weight on his right wrist. A pair of hands firmly pushed him back onto the bed, and Dean looked up into Crowley's exasperated face.

"When are people going to learn to stay lying down when they wake up in a hospital bed?" the doctor asked in frustration.

Dean didn't understand. "What?" he said weakly. "What's going on?"

"You had a seizure," Crowley explained calmly.

Dean's eyebrows hit his hairline. " _What_? No I didn't."

"You did. It's ten am."

Dean blinked. "No, it was only nine just now."

"No, it was nine o'clock one hour ago. That was when you had your seizure."

"What seizure? I don't remember anything!" Dean cried.

Crowley levelled a look at him. "You're not supposed to. You can ask Angel when he gets back, he can tell you all about it."

"Cas!" Dean searched the room for the man. "Where is he?"

Crowley shrugged. "I kicked him out once he'd recovered: needed to clean up the mess."

Dean frowned. "Wait, when he recovered? Recovered from what?"

"He didn't take your fit very well," was Crowley's only explanation.

Dean thought in horror of all the stories he'd heard of seizures, how the people trying to help were almost as likely to get injured themselves...

"Is he okay?"

"If he wasn't, don't you think he'd be in here, crying diamond tears over your immobile body?" Crowley snarked.

Dean glowered at him. " _Is he okay_?"

Crowley sighed, finally losing the sarcasm. "Yes, he's fine now. I handed him straight over to Short Round, too, so no need to worry."

Dean nodded. Kevin would take care of Cas.

"So what's the new verdict, then?" he asked eventually. "Why did I have this supposed seizure?"

A shrug. "Couldn't tell you. Can't you remember?"

Dean frowned, thinking as hard as he possibly could. He remembered talking to Cas, how hard it was to hear anything over that noise...

Dean froze. The noise. It was gone.

Crowley seemed to notice his expression. "Something the matter?" he asked, not looking overly concerned.

Slowly, Dean shook his head. "No. I'm fine."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Alright then. Anyway, you strained your wrist again with all your thrashing around. And you tried to peel off your ears, so there's that."

Surprised, Dean reached up to feel them. His skin was coated with a slimy, vaguely sticky substance that Dean assumed to be ointment of some sort. He could feel the wounds, too, stinging sharply under his touch.

"Don't poke them too much, or they won't heal properly," Crowley said. "I'll have enough work to do without an infection as well."

Dean looked up, alarmed. "What other work? How much else is wrong with me?"

Crowley blinked, then laughed. "No, George, I meant general surgery work. Sorting the medication. Cleaning the sink. Doing the bloody paperwork."

"I thought I was going to sort the medication." Dean was getting confused again.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "You don't seriously think I'm a bad enough doctor to make you keep working after you've had a seizure, do you? You're a free man, George. Look, I even cleaned up the mess you made." He gestured to the room.

"What mess?" Dean asked apprehensively.

Crowley gestured to Dean's crotch. "You may have embarrassed yourself a little."

Dean stared at the trousers that he hadn't been wearing the last time he remembered. "I didn't," he groaned in disbelief.

"Sorry, you did. Not the worst of it, though. Thursday upchucked all over the floor. I had to mop up half-digested bacon and beans. Not pleasant."

"Cas threw up?" Dean asked, worry rekindled.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "For the last time, he's fine. The touch aversion got the better of him for a bit is all."

Dean winced. _Shit_.

"Anyway," Crowley continued, "you'll be here for the rest of the day, until I'm happy that you're fit to be released on the unsuspecting not-so-innocents. I'll make your excuses to Naomi."

The meeting. Dean hurriedly jerked upright, earning a thump on the shoulder from Crowley.

"Lie _down_ , George, or I'll make you sleep here as well!"

Dean ignored this. "You can't tell Naomi," he insisted. "She can't know anything about it." Because Naomi would _know_. She'd know about the noise, and about how weak he was. She'd know how to get at him.

Crowley looked confused. "What? Look, I know it's mortifying and all, but –"

Dean shook his head urgently. "No, it's not that: she just can't know! Don't tell her anything!"

"She's going to find out eventually, she practically runs the place..."

" _She can't know_."

Finally, Crowley twigged. "Ah. You think your little episode had something to do with her punishment, don't you?"

Dean grimaced. "...I know it does. But you can't breathe a word about this to her. Or anyone." His eyes burned into Crowley's, trying to brand the urgency into his retina.

Crowley smiled malevolently. "Are you sure that was wise, young George?" he asked. "I'm not exactly the most trustworthy person you'll ever meet."

"You've kept Cas' talking secret, you'll keep mine." Dean was unmovable.

"Ah, but you see: I quite _like_ Thursday. You...well."

Dean threw all pride to the wind. "Please."

Crowley mimed consideration. "Well...alright then. But you have to promise to lie down and keep quiet for the rest of the day."

"No!" Dean protested. "I have to go to the meeting after lunch at least! If I don't show, she'll know something's up."

Crowley sighed in exasperation. "Now you're just being ridiculous. Dean." Dean blinked in shock as Crowley used his real name for the first time. "You need to rest. We can give some other excuse to Naomi."

"She won't buy it," Dean told him, though the doctor hardly needed to hear it.

"I'm not letting you leave that bed until evening at latest."

"I'm going."

They glared at each other for a minute before Crowley surrendered. "Do whatever you like," he spat scornfully. "Doesn't affect me."

"You need to let me go to lunch, too," Dean added, sensing weakness. "She can't see anything out of the ordinary."

Crowley just shook his head disbelievingly and let Dean do as he pleased.

* * *

Dean praised the god he didn't believe in when Castiel walked through the surgery door, looking slightly sheepish.

"Ah, Angel!" Crowley greeted. "Gotten over the shame at vomiting all over my pristine linoleum?"

Castiel stared fixedly at the pristine linoleum, cheeks staining a light pink. Crowley chuckled evilly.

"Oi, Cas, get over here, will you?" Dean called, beckoning his friend over with his good arm. "I'm so bored it's ridiculous!"

Castiel looked up and smiled, walking over. Pulling up a chair, his smile never faltered as he sat down and regarded Dean with relief.

"Glad to see I'm awake, huh?" Dean asked without really needing to know the answer. "Well, maybe you can convince that mountain of dicks over there to let me _get up_! He's barely let me move all morning!"

 _Quite right too_ , Castiel's eyes seemed to say.

"Well, if you're insisting upon going to that meeting with Naomi, George, you're going to need your rest," Crowley butted in, playing with his lighter. He'd only had two cigarettes today that Dean had seen, and it looked like the doctor was getting antsy.

"Oh, shut up," Dean snarled, before turning to Castiel. "Can you believe that guy?" he asked.

Castiel's smile had vanished. His eyes were now instead brimful with confusion and worry.

Dean hesitated, then groaned loudly. "God. You're not going to start telling me that I can't go too, are you?"

Castiel raised his eyebrows, nodding like it was obvious. Dean grimaced. "Cas, I really need to go. She can't know about the seizure," he explained, though really it was more like begging. The mere idea of Naomi finding out about his little episode froze Dean's heart to ice.

Crowley decided to be helpful. "George thinks that seizure had something to do with his...session with her a few days ago."

Castiel looked horrified, ramrod straight and stiff in his chair. His hands clenched around the material of his trousers.

Dean slammed his hand into his face. "Thanks for that, doc."

Crowley smiled at him benignly.

Castiel leaned towards Dean, his face contorting as he tried to convey his concerns.

Dean sighed. "Crowley, can you piss off for a bit? I think me and Cas should actually have this conversation as a dialogue."

Crowley threw his lighter down onto the table. "Yes. Because _that_ sounds like a wonderful idea! What happened last time I left you two alone, again? Angel can talk around me, he's already done it twice, though admittedly the first time he didn't realise it."

Castiel shook his head determinedly.

"Look, just for five minutes," Dean implored, straining his neck to try and look at Crowley directly. Castiel forced his head back down to the pillow with his arm.

"No can do, George, sorry," the doctor snapped, irritated. "I hardly think it would be impossible for Thursday to open his gob around me. He's fine with you, after all, and you're disgusting. Frankly."

"Thanks," Dean said acidly. "Now piss off. Or I'll make sure to get my ear things infected, and then say it's because you didn't treat them. Right to Naomi's face."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Don't you threaten me, boy. With my control over your medication, it could very well be the last thing you do."

"I'm willing to risk it," Dean told him. "Are you?"

Crowley kept his silence for only a few seconds longer. Then, standing up in a rush, he stormed dramatically over to the door. "Do as you like," he said flippantly. "But one more toe over the line, Winchester, and you'll regret it." With that, he flounced out, slamming the door behind him.

"I have him wrapped around my little finger," Dean said smugly. "Now, Cas, before you start –"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted urgently, "you can't possibly be considering this. Not only is wearing yourself out in itself a ridiculous idea, but if you're correct about Naomi somehow being connected to your fit..."

Dean held up his hand. "Cas, hold it. It's fine. Really." He ran a hand through his bird's nest of hair. "It'll be way worse if I don't go, why can't any of you _see_ that?! She'll know my weak spot, Cas. And then I'm _fucked_."

Castiel drew in a deep breath, dragging a hand over his face. "I understand that. But she'll know anyway, Dean, look at you. Your wrist is swelled and bruised, the capillaries in your eyes are burst and you have claw marks down the sides of your face. She will notice."

Dean waved him off. "I can make excuses for that," he said. "I'll say I got into a fight with you. Then maybe she won't be so suspicious about us."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "So I, with my chronic haphephobia, scratched your face to pieces with my bare hands?"

Dean hesitated. "Yeah, okay, maybe not. But I can think of something; I have to. I really need to go, Cas. The thought of her knowing a pressure point..." He shuddered.

"I sympathise," Castiel said, his face proving his words, "but it is dangerous, Dean. What if you have a relapse?"

"I won't," Dean replied with certainty.

Castiel cocked his head to the side, brow furrowing.

"The thing that caused the seizure's gone now," Dean explained. "I'm not about to collapse if I stand up."

"Then what caused it?" the other man asked gently, worry etched deeply into his face. "Did she use some form of torture? Were you plagued by flashbacks to your punishment?"

Dean shook his head tiredly. He could remember the light and the noise, but it wasn't overpowering anymore. It was just a memory. What he'd seen, no matter how insane, had just been too real to be a hallucination, even taking into account that he'd never had one before. It was all far too real. Especially the noise. Dean knew what inside his head sounded like. And that sound definitely hadn't been there.

"Dean?" Castiel pushed gently. "Please tell me why you had that seizure."

Dean shook his head again, more determinedly. He couldn't tell Castiel about that constant noise yet. It was too crazy-sounding, too risky. And, inexplicably, he didn't want to admit that it had only become worse around his friend.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "But what happened in there...it was some freaky shit, Cas. I swear I wasn't making anything up when I told you about it afterwards."

"The light and the high-pitched noise," Castiel said, nodding. "I believed you then, Dean, and I believe you now."

Dean breathed in deeply. "How?" he said after he exhaled. "I'm crazy. You're crazy. Everybody in this godforsaken place is crazy! Why should any of us believe anything?!" he shouted.

"Because if we didn't, then what would we have?" Castiel was regarding him with compassion, his eyes soft. Dean felt his panic drain away as he looked into those eyes. He breathed more calmly.

"I need to find out more about this place. I need to know for sure that I haven't lost it completely."

"Dean..." Castiel's warning tone told Dean everything he needed to know about how dangerous Castiel thought his following words were going to be.

"No, Cas, I need to know!" Dean broke him off, voice rising in desperation. "I need to find out what's going on, what they're doing to us. I need to find out why every time I try to remember my life from before this fucking place all I get is a black hole where the memories used to be!"

He saw Castiel's eyes narrow, saw the shock behind them.

He told him everything, wearily. "When I first came here, I could remember it. I could remember why I attacked that guy whose face I can't remember now. I could remember my friends, my..." He stopped himself from saying 'family'. The word felt synonymous with pain. "I could remember it all. And I remember remembering it. But now I can't anymore. It's like they've been removed. So what is it, Cas?! Is it something they've done to me? Is it just me slowly going around the twist? _I need to know_!"

"Dean." His voice was level, calm. "You are not going mad."

"How would you know?!"

A hesitation. "I...feel strange things sometimes," Castiel admitted. "When I come into contact with the staff. Especially Naomi and Raphael. It's a rare occurence, but every so often physical contact is made and...they feel strange. And also, at night sometimes," Castiel sucked in a calming breath. This was hard for him. "I hear voices."

Dean's eyes widened. "Voices?"

Castiel nodded. "Not malicious ones, I don't believe I'm schizophrenic. They don't even seem to be directed at me. It's as if I'm listening in on a conversation."

"What do they say?" Dean asked.

"I don't know." Castiel sighed. "They speak in a tongue I do not recognise."

"And when did this start?" Dean asked urgently.

Castiel bit his lip, rubbing his thumb across the back of his hand. "Around the point where you came to Balt's. Your very first night was the first time I heard them."

Dean huffed out a breath, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus, Cas." He breathed shakily, fingers trembling slightly until he curled them into tight fists, ignoring the pain in his right arm. "We need to find out what's happening. I'll look for something in Naomi's office if I get a chance." At the signs of alarm on Castiel's face, he continued hurriedly. " _Only_ if I get a chance. I won't do anything stupid. But we have to at least try and do _something_. We'll have lost if we give up before we've begun."

When Castiel closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, Dean knew he had won. The knowledge held no satisfaction.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you completely certain about this?" Castiel asked in a low voice over lunch, anxiety crumpling his brow.

"I'm sure." Dean nodded. "Still not completely certain what I'm going to tell Naomi about my face, though. The wrist's easy, but..." He grimaced. "I don't suppose you have any ideas?"

"Not ones that won't get other patients into trouble," Castiel sighed, running a hand through his hair. It stuck up in all directions, making him look startlingly similar to a hedgehog.

Dean clicked his tongue. "Crap. I could say my face was really itchy."

Castiel shook his head, looking mildly exasperated. "Dean, she would just put phantom itches down as another symptom of your condition and make you take extra therapy. And that's if she believed it."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I know. I guess I'll just have to wing it." He got up from the table, picking up his dirty plate. Castiel grabbed his sleeve.

"Dean," he said urgently. "You cannot underestimate Naomi. She's dangerous."

"Like I didn't know that already," Dean said, chuckling humourlessly as he made his way to the exit.

* * *

"How have you been this week, Mr Winchester?"

"Fine, thank you," Dean said, trying very hard to keep his tone as blank as possible.

Naomi noted down something brief. "How is your remedial work with Doctor Crowley going?" she asked.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, alright."

"Do you have any concerns you wish to raise?"

"No."

"Good. What sorts of tasks are you carrying out?"

Dean pretended to think about it for a bit. "I clean, mainly. The sink, the floor. He got me to put all the medication in alphabetical order today."

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "He allowed you free access to _all_ medication?"

_Shit. Way to fucking go, Winchester. What was that, a one minute record for fucking up?_

"I was under supervision!" He sounded far too defensive, he realised too late.

Naomi smirked slightly and scribbled a few lines in her notebook. "And do you interact well with Doctor Crowley, Mr Winchester?" she asked.

Dean shrugged, carefully nonchalant. "He's not insufferable. We have very different personalities, so sometimes we rub each other up the wrong way."

"So on the whole, do you think your strongest friendships are with people who are quite similar to you?"

"I suppose, yeah."

Naomi's eyes took on an almost predatory level of interest. "So you and Castiel have similar personalities," she stated.

Dean forced a knee-jerk reaction down. "Maybe. Outwardly we're quite different, but we're both quite private. We prefer quiet to constant bustle." Tell her nothing that she didn't already know. That was the trick.

Naomi's pen stayed satisfyingly motionless. "I see. And what of your other friendships? Junior Doctor Tran tells me you get along very well with the rest of your group."

Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief at the change of topic. "Yeah, I like them. Charlie's pretty funny, and Chuck's a decent guy."

"What of Junior Doctor Tran?"

"He's great too. Don't really know him as well as the others, though."

Naomi nodded, still writing nothing. Dean had to suppress a smirk.

"Were you ill this morning, Mr Winchester?"

The urge to smirk promptly vanished.

"What?"

"Were you ill this morning?"

"Why do you ask?" _Give. Nothing. Away._

"The capillaries in your eyes are burst, which is a common occurrence after one has been violently sick. Alternatively, if pressure in one's head is high – during a seizure, for example."

 _Shit_. "I did throw up this morning, actually. I think I might have overeaten at breakfast a little." Dean tried for a self-deprecating laugh. It came out more like a strangled choke.

"Indeed," Naomi said, scribbling away with that _damn_ pen of hers. The noise was driving him crazy. _Scritchscratchscritchscratchscritchscratchscritch_

"Mr Winchester." Dean was pulled abruptly into the present. "May I ask what happened to your arm? I was aware it was injured during your _incident_ with Mr Walker, but it looks decidedly worse for wear since I saw it last."

"I whacked it against the sink when I threw up," Dean lied calmly. "Crow– Doctor Crowley wasn't pleased that he had to bandage it _and_ clean up my mess."

"I can imagine," she said. "And what happened to the sides of your face?"

He was screwed.

"I...don't really know much about that, actually," he blathered, fingers digging sharply into his leg. "I woke up with them. Blood all over my hands and pillow and stuff. I must have scratched really hard while I was asleep or something."

Naomi leaned forward. "You woke up with them," she repeated slowly.

Dean nodded, desperately trying to stop sweating.

She didn't look convinced, but sat back in her chair again anyway. "I see. If it happens again, you may ask Junior Doctor Tran to give you a pair of protective gloves to wear while you sleep."

"Thanks," Dean said, hoping his face wasn't as damp as it felt.

_Scritchscratchscritchscratchscritchscratchscritchscratch_

She was writing again. The noise kept going for a while, with barely a hesitation. Dean could only guess what she was writing. Something about his lying, something about his injuries, something about Castiel, something about his other friends...the possibilities twisted his stomach. It was none of her business what his life consisted of! Why couldn't she at least tell him what the hell she was writing?

Dean eyed the cabinets behind her. They had no locks, no protection. When he got a chance, he could find out. Find out what she was writing. Find out about his memories. Find out about this _fucking_ madhouse!

"Speaking generally, then," Naomi said as she rested her pen on her lap. "How are you finding your experience at Balt's so far? Do you feel that you are comfortable?"

Dean nodded carefully, wondering at any hidden agendas in the seemingly innocent question. "Yeah, I suppose it's alright, apart from that thing with Gordon."

"I see. I can assure you that Mr Walker is being sufficiently reprimanded for his actions. The superiors understand that you were highly provoked."

Dean hummed. What were they doing to the guy? Sure, he was a dick, but he was in a mental asylum. That had to give him some excuse.

Forcing his mind away from Gordon, Dean said, "Well, yeah, I'm feeling okay here. It's easier than I thought it would be." This was true, when he thought about it. As he'd walked through the large iron gates, Dean had been expecting little to no privacy, constant supervision and possible electrotherapy.

Naomi seemed interested by this, though she wasn't writing anything as of yet. "Indeed. Following that line of thought, how do you feel when you remember your life before Balt's?" Dean froze. "Do you feel any sense of loss or melancholy? Perhaps anger that it was taken from you, as such." Dean could see what she was doing. He'd watched enough crap TV to see that she was leading him into answers, trying to get him to say, or even to believe, what she wanted. But _why_?

There was a silence as Dean panicked over the question. She knew about his memory loss; she had to. Why else would she ask, with such a sharp look in her eye?

"It's perfectly normal to feel such a way," Naomi added when the silence had stretched on for a bit too long. "You need not be ashamed."

Dean quickly formulated an answer. "Yeah, I feel a bit sad when I think about it. My friends, my...family." Dean almost choked on the word and cursed as Naomi's eyes flashed with triumph. She picked up her pen and began scribbling frenziedly. "It's not too bad, though," he added hastily.

 _Fuck_ , he thought, _she definitely knows._

When Naomi finished writing, she closed her notebook and stood up smartly. Dean followed suit, hoping to all hopes that he wouldn't be expected to shake her hand. Thankfully, Naomi barely offered him a parting smile as she said, "That's all we have time for today, Mr Winchester. I expect to see you again next week." She held the door open for him as he left.

Dean trudged wearily through the staff wing, across the lobby and back to Crowley's infirmary. He was suddenly drained and exhausted, as if he'd been awake for days. When he opened the surgery door, Crowley took one glance at him and told him to lie down.

"You're almost certainly tired from the seizure," he explained. "I told you you shouldn't have gone to that meeting. The woman's taxing enough by herself."

Dean ignored him and closed his eyes in relief, tumbling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He woke up only a few hours later, feeling marginally refreshed. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and sat up.

"Ah, excellent!" Crowley said, walking over to his bedside. "I was a bit worried someone would check in and see you sleeping on the job. Take this and pretend to be busy." He handed Dean a pile of papers.

Getting up blearily and collapsing onto the nearest chair, Dean sifted through the papers. They were dull things, prescription reports (names scribbled out), monthly expenses, medication order forms and the like.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Dean asked.

"Just put them into various piles, I don't really care. They're for binning anyway. The only point is to make it look like you're actually working in case some of the sneakers peek in," the doctor told him.

Dean nodded and got to 'work'. After about ten minutes of silence broken only by the rustling of Dean's papers, Crowley remembered something.

"Oh, that's right. You'll be a free man tomorrow, George. Can't have you working now. I've put you down as 'hard-working and conscientious', so you get early leave. I'll tell Naomi later, after dinner. She usually in a slightly better mood then."

"Thanks," Dean said woodenly. He was grateful to the doctor for all he'd done for him (even if it had been executed with a larger proportion of grumbling than strictly necessary). He was just so tired. He wondered if he just hadn't eaten enough.

Crowley threw him a quick glance. "Are we moping because Angel's not here?" he asked sarcastically, turning a page in his book.

Dean scowled at the floor. "No. Though now you mention it, where is he?"

Crowley motioned to the clock on his desk, which was helpfully facing away from Dean. "Group talk time, George. It's twenty past three."

"Oh." Dean did feel slightly happier at the prospect that group would be ending soon, leaving Cas free to come and relieve him of his boredom. Group didn't usually last longer than forty minutes; Dean could wait that long.

However, even when the clock (which Crowley had exasperatedly turned towards Dean at his fifth enquiry about the time) read four, Castiel still hadn't walked through the door. Dean shifted impatiently in his seat, then jumped as the door swung open.

Kevin walked in, and Dean slumped back into his chair.

"Hello, Crowley," the small man greeted. "Hi, Dean." Dean returned the smile that was flashed at him.

"I've just come to ask if Dean can come to group from now on," Kevin continued, addressing the doctor. "I know we agreed on this together, but I really don't think so much isolation is a good idea..." He trailed off as Crowley waved his hand dismissively.

"No need, no need. I've already let Dean off for good behaviour. He's on normal timetable from tomorrow."

Kevin looked relieved. "Great, thanks." He turned to Dean. "How are you holding up?"

Dean shrugged. "Bit tired."

Kevin grimaced. "Yeah, you look it. Castiel, too. I told him to get some rest. And then I told him that visiting you didn't count as rest." He let loose what could only be classed as a small giggle. "It's really quite sweet how you're so attached to each other. But yeah," he continued quickly at Dean's glare, "that's why he isn't here. Sorry for taking away your entertainment."

Dean shook his head. "Nah, it's okay. I'm too wiped out for proper conversation anyway." Not that it would have been a problem with Crowley in the room as well, but good manners were most certainly matters of principal.

Kevin laughed and opened the door. "Well, I'd better get going," he said. "Reports to write up and all that." He made to exit before halting suddenly. "Oh, wait, I nearly forgot." He tossed Dean a snack bar. "Charlie tells me you haven't been eating as much lately," he explained at Dean's quizzical expression. "Get your energy up, okay?" He left, shutting the door behind him.

Dean regarded the bar in his hand, touched at the display of personal concern. Kevin was far nicer to him than he was obliged to be, Dean thought. He appreciated it.

He wondered when Charlie had had the chance to monitor his eating habits, and suddenly felt guilty for neglecting her lately. They hadn't talked in a good few days. Nor had he spoken to Garth (or Mr Fizzles), or Alfie (and he really owed that man a thank you).

He made up for it at supper, sitting with Charlie, Garth and Andy while he ate his stew, and endeavouring to talk to Alfie at breakfast. The group chatted for a while, and while Andy still got on his nerves, it was a familiar kind of annoyance. Dean would likely find him just as grating as usual the next morning, but for now he could bear it. Charlie and Garth were very interested about his stint with Crowley, though Dean couldn't possibly see why. Mr Fizzles was more interested as to why Dean wasn't sitting with Castiel, but Garth calmly told the puppet it was none of his business. Charlie looked like she'd take up the topic herself until Dean shot her a look.

When he'd finished, Dean excused himself and staggered to his room. He was utterly exhausted. Crowley had been right: dealing with Naomi was hugely draining, not even taking into account the seizure.

He drifted into unconsciousness at around seven pm, listening to the muffled chatter coming from the rec room, and only opening his eyes briefly when he heard the door to Castiel's room open and shut softly.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean made good on his resolution to thank Alfie the next morning. The man waved him off, saying it was the least he could do.

"I barely did a thing, anyway. And Kevin was pretty worried about you."

"You and Kevin are friends, then?" Dean asked. Alfie nodded in reply.

"He roomed with me when he was new here," he said, "and now we're neighbours. Naomi wasn't best pleased at our friendship, but then she was always the jealous sibling."

Dean did a double take. "Sibling? You're a Balt?" He'd always connoted to the name to stiff, cold and mildly creepy, of which Alfie was none.

The doctor laughed at him. "Surprising, isn't it? I'm the odd one out in my family. Or what's left of it, anyway." He looked pensive for a split second, before his smile returned.

Dean still couldn't quite make the link between _Alfie_ and _Balt_ in his head. "You look nothing like the rest of them!" he exclaimed.

"Unlike Raphael and Naomi, who look so much alike," Alfie said sarcastically. "We're what you could call an adoptive family. Not many of us are related by blood."

"Not many? Do you mean there are more of you? How big _is_ this family?!"

Alfie shook his head. "Too big to comprehend. Did you think it was just the three of us?"

"I never really thought about it at all, really."

"Well, believe it or not, most of the orderlies are Balts as well. Not to mention Michael, but he's never around anyway." Alfie didn't look too bothered by his brother's absence, which wasn't completely surprising, assuming he was similar to the rest of his siblings.

"Michael Balt? The guy who founded this place?"

"Yup, that's him. Always interested in new things, Michael. And then of course we all got roped into it," Alfie said slightly bitterly. "Though I suppose I don't mind so much. It got better when Kevin appeared."

Dean nodded. He could only imagine the amount of walls he'd be climbing if Kevin hadn't been employed at Balt's. "So is the majority of staff here part of your family?" he asked curiously.

Alfie scratched his head. "Jeez. I'd say at least half, but then again, we've employed a lot more outsiders. Let's see, there's Hester, Inias, Muriel, Malachi..."

"Do you all have weird-ass names?" Dean interrupted.

"Michael and Naomi are pretty normal, aren't they?" Alfie asked innocently. "But yes, I suppose our names would seem strange. I grew up with it, so I don't really think about it."

Dean shrugged. "Makes sense. Alfie's ordinary, though; you got lucky."

Alfie chuckled, shaking his head. "That was Kevin's influence, I'm afraid. My given name is a bit more of a tongue twister."

"What is it?" Dean asked. "Alfred? Alan? Alphonse?" He sniggered at the last, unable to reconcile the pretentious-sounding name with the scrawny youth in front of him.

"I won't make you keep guessing," Alfie laughed. "You'll never get it. My name is Samandriel."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Samandriel." 'Samandriel' grinned widely. "I take it you now see why Kevin wanted to give me a nickname."

Dean was speechless for a second. After a moment, he asked in bemusement, "How the hell did he get _Alfie_ from _that_?"

"He didn't. He said it suited me, and promptly rechristened me."

Dean shook his head slowly. "But surely it would have been easier to just shorten it?"

"Like your nickname for Castiel?"

Dean coloured slightly. "Sure. Like Sammy, or..." Words caught in Dean's throat, and breathing was suddenly difficult. A flash of memory, _suppressed_ memory, passed before his eyes, too fast for him to see. It crippled him, his stomach twisting in agony. When he tried to grab at the shred of déjà vu, it vanished into the evanescent mist surrounding the holes in his memory.

Meanwhile, Alfie hadn't noticed anything the matter. "I suppose that would have been too easy for him. Kevin always liked to do things the unconventional...Dean? Are you feeling alright?"

Dean had broken out into a cold sweat, sagging against the wall. His palm left a damp mark on the paint. "I'm fine," he insisted. "Just came over feeling a bit weird suddenly."

Alfie looked concerned and not at all fooled, but before he could open his mouth to ask more questions, Dean felt a cool, delicate hand take his own.

"Come on, Dean, you need to eat," Lisa said briskly. "Look at you, you're almost falling over. Meg, get him some breakfast."

Her companion did so, and while she was piling a plate with various pieces of everything, Lisa dragged Dean away from Alfie, who looked as if he was going to object.

"Maybe you should take Dean to –" he started.

"He's fine," Lisa said shortly. "He barely ate anything last night is all." She pulled Dean away and sat him down at the furthest table by the window. Meg followed, dumping the plate in front of Dean.

"Now eat up, I didn't just do all that for fun," she said acidly.

Dean obeyed woodenly, still shaken.

Lisa watched him solemnly as he ate. "You shouldn't talk to Alfie like that. He's nice, sure, but he's staff. He's a Balt."

Dean frowned at her. "He got my ass out of the lion's den," he said, perhaps a bit more grouchily than necessary.

"Like I said, he's nice. He's a good guy. But he's still not completely trustworthy. Anything you tell those guys could go down on record," she warned.

"What, even Kevin?" Dean challenged. "I suppose he's out to get everyone too, short people being closer to Satan and all that."

Lisa had the decency to look abashed, but she didn't back down. "Kevin is more trustworthy than the others, I'll admit, but you still shouldn't talk to the staff too much. It'll only get you into trouble. I'm just trying to look out for you, Dean," she said pleadingly, eyes going all big and soft.

Dean felt his stomach deliquesce. Dammit, he could never resist puppy eyes. "Fine, whatever. I just had to thank him for getting me out. Surely I'm allowed to do that."

Lisa smiled. "Sure. Just be careful."

Dean shook his head and poked at his congealing bacon. He didn't have much of an appetite, being far too preoccupied with the shard of memory that had pierced through the walls surrounding his mind. It had been the name...Sammy. It still twinged his heartstrings a bit to think of it, but it had nothing of its previous, shattering significance. The memory was back behind lock and key. Dean ground his teeth in frustration.

"Please don't do that," Meg commented. "It's gross."

"She's right, can you not?" Lisa added, giving him a pointed look.

Dean sighed and obeyed. So they had the type of friendship that meant they'd back one another up about anything, then. Admittedly sweet, but could be annoying. Especially if it meant he'd have to suck up to Meg to even have a chance of getting with Lisa.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Lisa asked with a kinder tone. "You look kinda peaky."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "Seems fine to me," she said.

"No, look, he's so pale. Are you sick?" Lisa persisted, reaching across the table to take his temperature. Dean let her, pressing his face subtly into her hand, which was pleasantly cool.

"I'm alright," he said. "Just had a bit of a moment back there. I'm fine now."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "What, you had a hot flush or something?" she said sardonically.

Dean looked at her. "I don't know what that involves, but I'm gonna say no."

Lisa's laugh was heartfelt, none of that simpering giggling some girls put on when they thought they were being attractive. She was genuine, and Dean liked that. He wondered whether it was screwed up that he was seriously planning on sleeping with a woman in a mental institute. He concluded that he didn't care.

"I just felt a bit weird. I might be catching a bug or something," he commented offhandedly. Hopefully the annoying woman was a germ freak and would piss off.

Unfortunately, it seemed Meg was immune to germophobia. "Maybe. Give me warning if it turns out to be terminal: too late to avoid catching it now, but I'd like a bit of time to write my will."

"Who would you leave all your things to?" Lisa asked, a teasing lilt to her tone.

Meg considered in mock-sobriety. "I think I had some money in a bank account somewhere. I suppose I'd send that to Cuba to piss off the US. And then my personal effects could be cremated with me. Apart from my underwear. Clarence can have them."

Dean tried and failed to suppress a fit of sniggers, picturing Cas' bewildered expression as he held up the bra of a dead woman.

Meg looked at him, tilting her head to the side. "So you do have a sense of humour after all." She grinned. "Maybe we'll get along better than I thought."

"Hey, I hate to interrupt your bonding moment, guys," Lisa chipped in, "but _Meg_! You know I want that top you had before they introduced the uniform! Can't I have at least that?"

Meg shot her a glance. "I suppose. You're awfully enthusiastic about this. I don't have to sleep with one eye open, do I? Surely murder's not worth a single top."

Lisa bit her lip. "I dunno. It was a really nice top."

"Moving on from tops," Dean interrupted, "they only introduced the uniform recently? When?"

Lisa swayed her head from side to side. "Ehh. Not _that_ recently. Like maybe a year and a half or something. Before, we could wear our own clothes, as long as they conformed to the rules. We don't know why they revoked it, but it does mean it's easier trying to figure out what laundry basket everything goes into."

"My theory is that it's because they're hiring all this younger staff," Meg said eagerly. "Without the uniform, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference between patient and employee, and then they might experiment on the wrong people."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure, Meg. Not that the doctors wear white coats or anything. Anyway, there are like thirty patients in this entire hospital. I don't think anybody would be mixing us up with the orderlies any time soon."

"Think what you like." Meg shrugged unconcernedly. "I think my idea makes sense."

Dean shook his head, grinning wryly. He half-regretted his initial assumptions about Meg, now. She was actually pretty funny, once one got past the fortress of sarcasm.

At this point, Castiel walked in, still looking half-asleep and dishevelled. Trying to dispel the mental image of the man regarding Meg's underwear in complete confusion, Dean grinned at him when their eyes met, motioning for him to come and sit with them. Castiel smiled back, but shook his head, instead taking his plate to sit at another table.

Meg turned to regard Dean in carefully casual interest. "You two have a lover's spat or something?"

Dean huffed in frustration. "Actually, yeah. I wouldn't let him top last night."

It was worth it just for the expressions on their faces. Meg looked like she swallowed a toad, and Lisa's eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to a startled bushbaby's.

Dean managed to keep his straight face for around five seconds before he burst out laughing.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny, Winchester," Meg snarked, apparently recovered from her shock.

Lisa began to laugh too. "It was a pretty good one, actually," she said admiringly. "You had me for a few seconds."

"So you don't actually think Cas and I are fucking?" Dean teased. "What a relief. And here I thought you were stringing me along."

Lisa smiled at him from under her lashes. "And what are you going to do now you realise I'm not?" she asked, equally teasing.

Meg made vomiting noises. "Jesus, guys. See you never." She got up and left, abandoning her empty breakfast plate.

Dean eyed it in irritation. "Considerate of her."

Lisa shrugged. "To be fair, we weren't being overly considerate either."

"Well, what are we supposed to do? This entire place is one massive cockblock. I'm ready to explode."

Lisa sniggered in a most unladylike manner. "Me too, actually," she admitted. "I think everyone's a bit frustrated."

"It'd explain the staff," Dean pointed out. She laughed again, harder. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about them, though." He picked up her hand from where it lay on the table; she blushed as her stroked the back gently with his thumb.

Glancing to the side, she whispered, "Castiel's watching."

Dean nearly looked. _Nearly_. "Nice try," he whispered back instead. He kept his hold on her hand.

Lisa gazed at their linked hands for a while, before looking up and smiling at him apologetically. "Dean, I'm sorry, but I don't want a romantic relationship right now. It's far too dangerous here."

"I know, I know!" Dean reassured her. "I'm not looking for one either. You're just really hot," he said frankly.

Lisa let out a relieved peal of laughter. "Alright, then. As long as you don't get too attached," she warned.

Dean smiled warmly at her. "The only thing I'm in danger of getting attached to here is your pretty face. And they way things are looking, that not going to vanish from my life any time soon."

She shook her head. "Fine." She stood up, dragging Dean to his feet as well. "Come on then," she said, scooping up Meg's plate along with her own.

"Already?" Dean had to admit he was surprised.

Lisa gave him a look. "I'm not _that_ easy. We're going to the rec room. To _talk_."

Dean nodded. "Right. Lead the way, then."

"With pleasure," she replied, strolling to the door and dumping her plate with Meg's. "Come on, then."

Dean did as he was told, walking slightly behind her on the way to the rec room. Garth and Charlie were already there, the latter giving him a wave and the former a bright grin. Dean returned the greetings with a nod of his head.

"Looks like Meg isn't here," Lisa said matter-of-factly. "Apparently we were a bit too gooey and she had to go to her room and throw up."

Dean shrugged. "Her loss," he said. "The breakfast was pretty good today."

Lisa laughed. "Yeah, though the eggs were a bit solid."

Dean agreed, then motioned to the empty couch. "Shall we sit?" he suggested.

Lisa looked hesitant. "That's normally Gordon's spot..."

"Well, he's not here, is he? What's he gonna do, smell our scent on the cushions?"

"Fair point," Lisa admitted, plonking herself down. "Well then, Mr Suave, what would you like to talk about?"

Dean was silent as he sat down. "Uh..."

Lisa grinned. "Maybe I should rephrase: what would you _not_ like to talk about?"

Dean looked relieved. "Well. I would not like to talk about fashion."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know so much about that. This lunatic asylum's got all the latest trends."

"Just in case," Dean said. "Let's see...I'd also prefer to avoid the topic of the staff. If this place is a turn off, they need a new word invented."

"Indeed." Lisa nodded her head seriously. "Shame, I was hoping to gossip about about that rumour-scandal going around about Naomi and Raphael."

Dean did a double-take. "What?! They're _siblings_!"

Lisa fastidiously avoided eye contact, looking pensively at the ceiling. "Yes, Dean, that is why it would be a scandal. It takes quite a lot to shock us, after all."

"So you're saying Naomi and Raphael hooked up?"

"Repeatedly."

"You've got to be joking."

"As a matter of fact, I am," Lisa finally admitted, before bursting out laughing. "Your face!" she gasped. "If only they allowed us cameras."

"If only," Dean repeated sarcastically. "Well, now we've got that cleared up." He heaved an over-dramatic sigh of relief. "I'd rather not talk about just now, either. Ever." It wasn't like him to be so gullible.

Lisa managed to rein in her guffaws. "As you wish," she teased. "Is there anything else you desire to add to the list, Your Highness?"

Dean mimed deep thought. "Hm. No, I believe that's all. Except – ah, yes. Let's not talk about Castiel for a bit, okay?" He leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "Can't have you getting the wrong idea again, now can we?"

"Certainly not," she replied teasingly. "But what would be the wrong idea?"

Dean hummed. "Let's see...that we're screwing. That he affects my sex choices at all. That I'm gay. That I don't think you're gorgeous."

Lisa's face broke out into a grin. "Charmer. Compliment accepted and returned."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You think I'm gorgeous?" he asked.

"That's what I just said, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I was hoping for a bit of a more masculine adjective. Handsome, dashing...?"

Lisa thought about it. "Nope," she said finally, "definitely gorgeous."

"Dammit," Dean joked. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take what I can, then, won't I?"

"Yes you will." Lisa's eyes were bright, mischievous. She bit her lip deliberately and Dean wondered whether he was reading the signs wrong, or whether she was just teasing him.

When Lisa started laughing, he was sure she'd been teasing. "God," she said. "Do I have to do everything?" She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, reaching up to cup his cheek. Dean reacted immediately, holding the back of her head and pressing forward. She willingly let him take control.

"Ew!" A shout broke through the atmosphere. "Take it somewhere else, guys!"

It was Charlie, Dean saw when they broke apart. She looked disgruntled.

"You're just jealous because I'm getting the girl!" Dean yelled back cheerfully.

Charlie snorted. "Hardly! I'm not desperate enough to go drooling after straight women: I just don't wanna see that. Either stop or leave."

Dean put on a martyred expression. "Well, then," he said, turning to Lisa. "I suppose we'll have to –"

"We'll stay," Lisa interrupted, flashing him a genuine but firm smile. No room for argument there, then. Dean was a bit frustrated. First this woman said she didn't want a romantic relationship, then she kissed him, and now she was making it very clear that she didn't want the bedroom yet. Was this the normal woman's way of 'taking it slow'? Dean couldn't hope to understand. She was hot enough to make it worth the trouble, though. If he was lucky, they might even have a regular thing after a while.

"Whatever you wish, Princess," he said indulgently, bowing his head.

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "You making fun of me?" she asked.

Blinking, Dean said, "What? No!"

"Good. Because Meg's just appeared."

_Whoop-de-fucking-doo._

Sure enough, Meg sauntered over to their sofa. "You lovebirds stopped canoodling yet?" she asked bluntly.

"We're not in love, Meg," Lisa sighed all-sufferingly.

"What a relief, keep it that way," Meg rapped out in a flat monotone, completely uncaring.

Dean decided to change the subject. "You guys wanna play cards?" he asked.

"Hell yes!" Lisa cried enthusiastically. "Irish snap!"

"Irish snap?" Dean asked, confused. He'd never heard of it.

"This is gonna end in injury. I'm in," Meg said, sitting down.

Lisa picked up a pack of cards and began shuffling. "Okay, so the rules are..."

* * *

"It's time for lunch, guys." Garth interrupted Meg and Dean's screaming competition over who _exactly_ had put their hand down first.

Dean cleared his throat. "Already?" he asked, slightly hoarse.

Lisa laughed. "Having that much fun?" she teased. "I'm flattered."

Meg groaned. "And they're off again. Bye." She got up and sauntered out of the room, turning at the doorway to fix Dean with threatening eyes. "This isn't over yet, Blondie," she warned.

"My God, you two are hilarious," Lisa sniggered.

Dean shook his head indulgently. "I suppose. But my hand was down first, wasn't it?"

"Oh, no! I'm not taking sides on this! Meg gets really competitive."

"I hadn't noticed. She practically chewed my head off."

Another laugh. Laughing suited her, Dean thought absently. "She's just jealous," Lisa said, motioning to the door that Meg had just exited.

Dean had to suppress a snort. "Oh yeah, because she obviously likes me so much."

Lisa sighed. "Not of me, you egoistic prick. Of you!"

Dean did a double-take. "Wait, she –?"

Lisa interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "No, she doesn't like me like that! I'm just paying attention to you."

"Clingy, much."

"Yes, like a lot of people in here. Can you blame her?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess not. C'mon, let's go eat."

It was pasta for lunch, Dean noted with satisfaction as Ellen handed him his plateful. They didn't cook it with salt, but the sauce was generally amazing.

Lunch wasn't exactly a quiet affair, with Meg and Dean continuing their previous argument and Lisa adding her two bits now and then to egg them on, but it was definitely the most relaxed Dean had felt since he had arrived at Balt's. While Castiel's presence was calming, it didn't make Dean feel as _real_ as he felt now.

On the subject of Castiel, he wasn't at lunch. It was strange for him, Dean thought. He didn't often pass on mealtimes, though Dean theorised he may have eaten quickly and left before Dean had realised he was there. It felt a bit like the other man was avoiding him. Dean shrugged off the thought. He obviously just needed space, like Dean did.

After lunch, they played one more game of Irish Snap, which (to both Dean and Meg's huge irritation) Lisa won. Muttering about not wanting to witness anymore vomit-inducing flirting, Meg went off to her room, after ensuring Dean that there would be a rematch in which he would be _trounced_. Dean just smiled and nodded.

He and Lisa talked until group, about silly things like the weather and food and music. Dean really liked Lisa, he realised. Not in a dangerous way: he simply thought she was a fun person to be around. She let him forget.

"I won't be around after group," Lisa said softly, stroking Dean's hand where it lay on the cushion.

Dean turned his head to look at her. "Why not?"

Lisa's smile turned excited. "I have a visitor." The words had a touch of pride in them, that only intensified on the word _visitor_.

Dean grinned back at her. "Oh, do you now?"

"I do indeed. Ben. My little boy." The love in her voice made Dean's eyes soften, even as he raised his eyebrows.

"You have a kid?" he asked. "You look way too young."

Lisa grimaced. "I am a bit, aren't I? But. Wayward adolescence and all that. I love Ben, though, with all my heart. I'm beyond glad I decided to have him."

Dean nodded, not really understanding, because how could he? "So how old is he?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"About ten now," Lisa told him. "I can never keep real track. Time passes so strangely in this place."

"Tell me about it. Does he live with your family?" Dean asked carefully, curious, but not wanting to pry.

Lisa shook his head. "They wouldn't have taken him if I'd asked. No, he's in care. He says it's not as bad as he thought it would be, and I believe him. He tells me so many stories about all his friends there." She looked happy at the mere memory, a blissful smile on her face.

"That's great," Dean said honestly. He half-wished he could meet the kid, but dismissed the urge. He'd only known Lisa herself for about a week. "How often do you get to see him?"

Lisa sighed. "Only every few months. I wish it was more often...he grows so fast."

"Yeah, well, that's what kids do, isn't it?" Dean said, not insensitively. "Anyway, you enjoy it. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure."

He kissed her then, ignoring the other people in the rec room. The orderlies could go fuck themselves too, they looked like they needed it. Her lips were soft against his, as was her cheek against his hand.

 _I could get used to this_ , Dean thought as they broke apart. Lisa smiled at him and walked away.

* * *

"So, have there been any changes in anyone's lives recently?" Kevin asked in group that day, smiling cheerfully at them all.

"Dean's snagged himself a girlfriend," Charlie snorted, looking almost as incredulous as she looked amused.

"Really?" Kevin blinked in bemusement.

All eyes turned to Dean, who shifted uncomfortably. "Not really a girlfriend," he admitted.

Charlie laughed loudly. "Oh yes, I'm sure it's just platonic friendship through and through," she drawled, irony loading every word.

"I never said that," Dean reminded her loftily.

"Alright guys, break it up." Kevin waved his hands in a calming gesture. "Lisa, right?" he asked Dean.

Dean nodded, and that was apparently the end of that. One of the many reasons Dean was immensely appreciative of Kevin.

Group was a fairly brief affair that day: Charlie told a story of how Andy had accidentally sat on Mr Fizzles (while he was separated from Garth) and he hadn't been found until quite a few hours later (Garth had apparently been distraught). Chuck mumbled a few sentences about a plotline for a story he'd been dreaming (sometimes literally) up. Dean had to admit, it sounded pretty good for a guy who wasn't allowed pens. Dean talked about his stint with Crowley, of which some of the more amusing parts drew a snigger out of Kevin himself. Funnily enough though, the young doctor didn't address Castiel directly throughout the entire session. It was strange: Dean had noticed that Kevin always made a point of getting everyone to talk (or in Castiel's case at least nod and pay attention) but this afternoon he seemed perfectly happy to let him drift off very obviously into a world of his own.

It was only when Castiel's eyes caught his own that Dean realised he'd been staring. Too embarrassed to either look away or to smile, Dean just kept looking. Castiel stared back, his eyes solemn, until finally they drifted away to the floor. If anyone noticed their exchange, they didn't mention it.

When they all exited the room Dean tugged on Castiel's sleeve to catch his attention. The dark-haired man turned, an expression of quiet curiosity on his face.

"Hey," Dean said quietly. "How've you been?"

Castiel blinked. "Fine. As always." His voice was flat and dimensionless.

"Yeah, I was just wondering." Dean scratched the back of his head. "We haven't spoken all day, and you weren't at lunch..."

Even before Dean's eyes, Castiel's face became a porcelain mask. "I was not hungry," he stated, voice even more wooden.

Dean wondered whether to press it. Castiel didn't react well to prying, and it really was his business. He took another look as his friend's ashen face and made up his mind. "You're always hungry. Did something happen?"

Castiel shook his head mutely, eyes steadily meeting Dean's and fingers twisting anxiously in his clothes.

Dean sighed. "Cas, I'm not an idiot. What is it?" Castiel seemed about to deny it again, but Dean interrupted him. "No, Cas, I'm serious. You look...worried. Pale. Not like you."

Castiel took a step back, turning away. "I told you Dean," he said. "I am fine."

"Please."

Castiel stopped and turned to face him again, painfully slow. "You are concerned." It wasn't a question.

"Of course I'm concerned!" Dean cried. "You're my friend!"

Castiel inhaled sharply. "Yes," he breathed. "We are friends. You deserve the truth."

Dean relaxed, relieved, and waited patiently while Castiel gathered himself. Finally, the man said softly, "Raphael called me to his office before lunch."

Dean was frozen, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to think. "Raphael?" he whispered after a heavy silence. " _Why_?"

Castiel rubbed his brow. "You."

Dean almost felt the blood drain out of his face. If anything had happened to Castiel, it would be his fault. If anything _did_ happen to him. All his fault.

" _If you had been here, ever, it never would have come to this"_

Dean went rigid. It was not his voice, or Castiel's, that had spoken. He turned sharply to look for the eavesdropper and found no one. He realised the voice was in his head.

"Dean?" Castiel asked. "Did you hear something?"

Dean leaned back against the wall, shaking his head slowly. "Just my imagination," he mumbled distractedly. Shaking his head violently to clear it, Dean breathed in deeply. "Why did Raphael want to talk to you about me?"

Castiel bit his lip, and Dean's eyes inadvertently flickered downwards, watching the pink flesh turn white under the pressure. "He advised me to break off our friendship."

Dean swallowed. Suddenly Castiel's absence throughout lunch seemed far more significant. "And what do you think about that?"

Castiel looked up sharply, his eyes boring into Dean's. "You cannot think I would listen," he said disbelievingly. "Surely you have more faith in me than that."

Dean looked away.

Pursing his lips, Castiel continued. "Well, I did not consider the idea in the slightest. Despite what you may think, you are worth more to me than the advice of a man I neither like nor trust."

Dean closed his eyes. "Cas," he groaned. "Look. I didn't mean to offend you or anything. I'm just...scared. Real scared. Because it looks like the entirety of the staff are against us, minus Kevin and possibly Crowley. Naomi, Raphael...how are we supposed to stick together?"

"Do you want us to?" Castiel asked, frowning.

"Of course I do, Cas, Jesus!"

A smile, one that melted Castiel's eyes and a hidden parts of Dean's insides. "Then that is all that need matter."

Dean breathed out slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Christ. Am I allowed to hug you now?" The expression on Castiel's face said it all. "Never mind."

"That is not all, though, Dean," Castiel continued hesitantly. "Raphael told me many things."

"About me?"

"About everything."

Dean looked at him sharply. "You mean like the hospital?"

"No: people. He told me scraps of information about some of the staff, some about former patients, some about you in particular, and some...about me."

"And what kind of things were they?" Dean was confused. It was against policy to talk of patients or staff to anyone without clearance, so why would Raphael tell Castiel, of all people?

"He told me that Crowley came to Balt's ten years ago, after serving as a doctor in the army."

"What?" Dean said incredulously. "He doesn't really look the type, does he?"

Castiel shook his head, a smile playing about his lips. "He said he'd had a friend in the army, who died while under Crowley's care. That was the reason he retired."

Dean sighed. "Fuck. But why did he tell you that? Why you? Because he thought you wouldn't tell anyone else?"

Castiel shook his head. "Raphael is clever. He knows very well that I will not even consider breaking off relations with you, and that I will tell you everything. I'm afraid that he will use it against us. I'm afraid that he _is_ using it against us. He's manipulating us." His eyes betrayed the true extent of his worry.

Unable to stop himself anymore, Dean reached out and slowly covered Castiel's hand with his own, giving him ample time to flinch away. He did not. "We ain't going to let him do that, Cas," Dean comforted the other man. "We're clever too, remember?"

"Not that clever." Castiel smiled a smile that came nowhere near his eyes.

"Well, we gotta try," Dean said frankly, absent-mindedly stroking the other's hand, which still did not shy away.

"He told me about Gordon."

Dean's fingers froze mid-stroke.

"He will be released again tomorrow. Raphael said he was responsive to..." Castiel's voice gave out, "...treatment, and that we will not be troubled again."

"Treatment?"

"He didn't specify. But I am certain it was the same punishment you suffered that night."

Dean winced despite himself. Over a week of that... No matter how much he despised Gordon, he had to admit that no one deserved that.

"And then he told me about you." Castiel's voice was quiet, careful. Dean's blood ran cold at the sound of it. He dropped Castiel's hand.

"What did he say?" His voice sounded foreign in his ears.

"He told me of your friends outside."

 _The ones I can't remember_.

"He said...taking into account how those friendships ended, I was unlikely to come out any better off."

"How did they end." Dean said flatly, eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

"Badly," Castiel whispered. "He did not say how."

Dean forced himself to breathe deeply. It seemed everyone knew more about his previous life than himself, and it infuriated him. It was so hard not to become angry at Castiel, no matter how many times Dean repeated to himself that it wasn't the man's fault, that Castiel's situation was unimaginably worse than his...

"He told me about your romantic relationships as well."

Dean's hand clenched into fists and the bones of his jaw creaked at the force with which he ground his teeth together. "And what did he tell you about _that_?" he spat furiously. He had no memory of any girlfriend. None at all.

Castiel took a step forward. "Dean, I didn't want to hear these things, I'm sorry –"

"Cas. Shut up and tell me."

Dean could have punched himself for the expression that passed over Castiel's face. Nevertheless, the man continued, voice steady. "He told me you have problems with commitment and emotional investment. That you are prone to becoming angry and dangerous."

Dean could feel his hands shaking, his tense muscles travelling the vibrations up his arms. "He's lying," he hissed through his teeth. "It's not true, none of it's true!" He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

Carefully, Castiel took Dean's fist and unfurled it. Dean's fingernails had left red welts in his palms, which Castiel cooled with his fingers. "I know it's not true," he said. "I know."

Dean, over the ringing in his ears, couldn't tell whether he was lying or not. He forced his jaw to loosen and said, "So does Raphael think we're going at it too, then? That's why he warned you of my _violent tendencies_."

"I do not know," Castiel admitted. "I don't know why he told me that. I don't know why he told me any of it. But he asked me why I am so...attached to you, he said. He said it was unlike me to trust, let alone so quickly. It scares me that he seems to know me so well."

Dean laughed derisively. "You're not the only one. And what did you tell him then?"

"I didn't say a word. I said nothing for the entire meeting."

Dean smiled, but it was a cold one. "Good."

Castiel released his hand, and when Dean looked at him in surprise, he fished in his trousers, as if looking for something.

"Cas? What exactly are you doing?"

"Being intimidated was not all I managed to do during that time."Castiel drew out a sheaf of papers, stapled together and folded. "This was on Raphael's desk. Staff reports."

Dean looked at him in incredulity. "How the fuck did you get this?" he breathed.

"Raphael turned his back once too often." Castiel looked proud.

Dean shook his head. "Jesus Christ, man. Were you a ninja in a past life?"

"I hardly think shoving a stack of paper into my pants counts as ninja-like action, Dean."

"Maybe not, but doing anything without Raphael Balt noticing? Dude, you rock."

"Thank you Dean."


	12. Chapter 12

Dean and Castiel sat in the latter's room, nervously regarding the staff reports Castiel had filched from Raphael's office.

"Who's first?" asked Dean, leaning to look over his friend's shoulder.

"Bartholomew. He is the head of the fourth-level group."

"And who's in the fourth-level group?" Dean asked.

Castiel thought for a second. "Gordon, Benny and Chet."

"Chet?"

"The smaller man with the stubble and earring."

"Oh, him."

Castiel flicked through the booklet again. "It appears this is arranged in alphabetical order," he observed.

Dean squinted at the page. "What, by first name? Why not surname?"

Castiel shrugged. "My guess would be that there are few enough staff to be classified in such a way. Also, I believe many are members of the Balt family, making it pointless to file by last name."

"How many staff are Balts, anyway?" Dean asked, recalling his conversation with Alfie.

Castiel frowned, thinking. "Well, there's Raphael and Naomi, of course. And then..." He flicked through the pages of the booklet, counting as he went. "Twelve," he announced finally.

Dean's eyebrows hit his hairline. " _Twelve_? Out of, what, twenty?"

Castiel counted again. "Not including the cleaning and cooking staff, fifteen," he said. "It appears we are severely outnumbered."

 _Understatement_ , Dean thought sourly. "So what does it say about Bartholomew, then?"

"Nothing much of interest. Satisfactory performance, no especial complaints, Raphael's personal comments could be about anyone." Castiel frowned, mildly frustrated. "This is of no use at all."

"Don't say that," Dean ordered him. "It's a lot more use than nothing."

"I disagree. Raphael will eventually realise that the reports are gone, and he will know who took it. I've been foolish."

Dean heaved a sigh. "Look, Cas: if you're gonna be like that, we may as well bribe Kevin to slip it back into Raphael's office now. Grow a pair and turn the page."

Not looking entirely happy, Castiel did so. "Camael," he announced.

Dean blinked. "Who?"

"Group three leader. That's Meg, Bela, Andy and Dixon."

Dean did a double take. "Woah, Andy's in Group _three_?!"

Castiel blinked at him. "Surely you've noticed his talent for manipulation by now?"

"No, actually, he's just fucking irritating. What do you mean, manipulation?"

Castiel ignored the question. "You find him annoying?"

"I thought we established this on my first day."

Castiel brushed him off. "I assumed he hadn't had time to seduce you yet."

Dean choked on air. " _Seduce_ me? I'm not gay! And as far as I know, he isn't either!"

"I didn't mean it in that sense," Castiel assured him, rolling his eyes. "It's the best word to describe what he does: he beguiles everyone into liking him. Even Gordon tolerates him better than most." There was a tinge of respect in his voice that Dean understood, despite not liking it one bit.

"So they stuck him in the second-from-top level security group because he's good at making friends?"

Castiel bit his lip, and Dean started to wonder if he really did it that often or whether he was just very aware of it. "Andy can use his...charisma for other things, if he so wishes."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure how far it extends, but he can convince people to do a lot of things, killing themselves being the least of it," Castiel told him, face as if it were carved of ice.

Dean was shocked, and he was sure it showed on his face. "Shit," he breathed. He took a breath to ask Castiel how he'd known, but a look at his friend's eyes advised him otherwise. "I'll make sure to avoid him even more than I already do," he said instead.

Castiel looked him in the eyes. "I believe that would be wise," he said, sincerity loading every word.

Dean nodded awkwardly, gesturing back to the sheaf of papers. "Anything interesting on Camael?" he asked weakly.

Castiel scanned the page and shook his head. "It's almost identical to Bartholomew's," he said, sounding immensely frustrated.

"Well, what do you expect? So far they're all Balts, there's hardly gonna be any dirt on them: it's their brother who's writing these!" Dean pointed out. "Now who's next?"

Castiel turned the page. "Daniel, another member of the Balts." He flicked through a few more pages before stopping, eyes brightening with interest. "Fergus Crowley," he announced.

Dean smirked. He'd forgotten about Crowley's first name. "Anything I can use for leverage?" he asked slyly, though he didn't think blackmail would work on a being as shameless as the asylum doctor.

Castiel gave him a look. "Not if you don't want to be reported," he said. "But you were right: Crowley's report is more interesting than Bartholomew's or Camael's."

"How so?" Dean leaned over to have another look. Castiel hadn't been lying: Crowley's page had a lot more text than the previous two, though Raphael's Personal Comments section was as skimpy as always.

 **Name** : Fergus Crowley

 **Position** : On-site medic and doctor

 **Hours** : All necessary, minimum 48 hours per week.

 **Salary** : $225,630 per annum

 **Start date** : 29/04/2006

 **Works satisfactorily** : Yes

 **Details** : Diagnoses generally accurate, prescriptions satisfactory.

 **Complaints** : Lack of formality when dealing with patients, regrettable behaviour

 **Details** : Does not maintain required staff-patient divide, too familiar. Smokes inside infirmary, at times in front of patients. Behaviour towards select colleagues deemed inappropriate.

 **Additional comments** : Positioned as patient D. Winchester's supervisor during patient's period of rebuke. Did not report any incidents, though suspicions were raised after patient was seen with injuries of medium severity. May not be completely trustworthy, will maintain supervision.

Dean felt a cold dread permeate his stomach a he read his own name in the report. It felt like wherever he turned, the staff's eyes were upon him, following his every move. He knew he was being paranoid, that supervision was the entire _point_ of a mental asylum, but still he could not shake the feeling that he was somehow different.

Whether Castiel had similar worries, Dean did not know. The man's face was concerned, yes, but it was more likely to do with –

"Supervision?" Castiel completed Dean's thought aloud. "What do they mean, maintain supervision? Crowley is an experienced doctor, he's been here for years. Why supervise him?"

"To make sure he doesn't step out of line?" Dean suggested, even as the thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Castiel regarded him with worry in his eyes. "And what would they do if he did break the rules again?"

Dean shook his head. "Not completely sure I wanna find out," he admitted. "These people are scary, man. This _place_ is scary! How have the authorities not picked up on any of it?"

"How would they?"

"Well, there's gotta be inspections at some point, right? Where they talk to the patients? We can tell them, next time they come. We can tell them everything!" he rambled feverishly.

"Dean." Castiel interrupted his tirade. "Dean, there are no inspections."

"What?"

"I don't know what strings the higher-ups have pulled, but that's how it is. And even if there were, what would we tell them? That they wiped my memory? That Naomi is some kind of inhuman creature that glows and tortures people with high-pitched noises? Dean, we are _insane_! Crazy. No one in their right mind would believe us!"

Dean glared at him, inexplicably furious. Rationally, he knew that Castiel was telling the truth, of course he was. They were mad. Dean wasn't sure whether he could even trust himself. And that doubt made him angry.

"Keep reading," he snarled at Castiel, who looked ready to retort before he paused and sighed.

"Very well," he murmured, flicking through pages. "Balt, Balt, Balt – Kevin." He started upright, staring down at the page. Dean, momentarily forgetting his anger, leaned over his shoulder to read.

Kevin's report, like Crowley's, was longer than Bartholomew's or Camael's, though that may have been due to an extra section on the progress of his induction. Everything was normal, good even, until Dean reached the additional comments.

 **Additional comments** : Junior Doctor Tran is heavily suspected of aiding Samandriel Balt in the escape of patient D. Winchester from Room 5. Also suspected of providing patients with forbidden items, including but not limited to books, computers, mobile phones and pens. High-risk, would recommend removal.

"Removal," Dean and Casiel whispered simultaneously. They looked at each other.

"That does not sound good," Dean said unnecessarily.

"If Kevin's report is like this, then Alfie's..." Castiel trailed off, searching the pages desperately until he found what he was looking for.

 **Name** : Samandriel Balt

 **Occupation** : Psychiatric doctor

Dean didn't bother reading the entire page, skipping immediately to the additional comments.

 **Additional comments** : Samandriel Balt went directly against orders and released patient D. Winchester from Room 5. When asked about disobedience, Samandriel claimed it was "the right thing to do". Evidently unstable and confused, heavily recommend removal and re-education.

"Shit," Dean swore. "We gotta warn them."

Castiel gaped at him. "What?"

"What do you mean, "what", we have to tell Kevin and Alfie! There's something weird going on, Cas, you can't deny it! 'Removal' ain't just talking about dismissal!"

Castiel looked uncertain.

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "Come _on_ , Cas, you have to be kidding me! Don't you get it? This is _my_ fault! Alfie and Kevin risked their asses to get me out of that room, and now they're out of the frying pan and into a whole volcano! I have to do at least something!"

Castiel sighed. "If you are to blame, then I am also at fault," he said resignedly.

Dean frowned at him. "The hell are you talking about, none of this is your fault."

Castiel shook his head. "If you had not intervened between Gordon and I, you would not have been punished. I owe them as much gratitude as you. But Dean, do you not see that you are being reckless? Kevin and Alfie, while extremely kind and trustworthy, are staff. How do you think they are going to react when we tell them that we've stolen confidential staff reports, read them, and concluded that the two of them are in danger? You insist upon forgetting our position as patients, yet it affects us most in these situations. Our credibility is not strong, and without further proof, there is not even the slightest possibility that they will believe us. Please, Dean: you have to wait."

Castiel's eyes were so pleading that Dean's mind stopped it's frenetic turning. Sagging against his friend and noting with distracted satisfaction the way Castiel did not so much as flinch when he rested their foreheads together, Dean sighed in relief as he finally felt the tension drain away from him.

"You're right," he said quietly, "of course you are. We'll do it your way, we'll wait. But one more odd thing, Cas, one tiny little thing out of the ordinary, and we'll go and warn Kevin. Something's going on here, and I can't just stand by and let it happen."

Castiel murmured an agreement and hesitantly took Dean's hand in his own, entwining their fingers. "Thank you," he said.

* * *

The next day, Dean knocked on Castiel's door on his way to breakfast. When the other man opened it with curiosity stamped all over his face, he said, "Wanted to make sure you weren't planning on skipping any more meals."

Castiel smiled and walked with him to the canteen.

Shoving the doors out of his way, Dean made a beeline for the relatively short food queue, jerking to a stop when he realised Castiel had grabbed his sleeve.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently, stomach growling.

"Dean," Castiel said, eyes fixed on something on the opposite side of the room. Dean followed his friend's gaze and froze.

Gordon was sitting by the window, an empty plate in front of him. As if feeling their stares, he turned, eyes locking with Dean's. He got up fluidly, stalking over to them as if a leopard hunting its prey.

"Shit," Dean hissed, moving to stand in front of Castiel, who pushed him exasperatedly out of the way and stood straight in defiance as Gordon steadily approached.

"Winchester," Gordon stated when he reached them, coming to an unnaturally still halt. He completely ignored Castiel.

Some part of Dean's brain absently realised that the entire room had gone silent, all eyes fixed upon them. He shot a glance at Alfie, expecting to see the man making his way over to them with urgency, but was surprised to find that he did not look worried in the slightest, merely vaguely curious. He hadn't moved from his position by the queue.

Turning his attention back to the man in front of him, Dean returned the acknowledgement. "Walker."

They stared at each other for a few moments longer, tension permeating the almost viscous air, until Gordon dropped his eyes, head bowed. "I believe I owe you an apology," he stated, eyes fixed blankly upon the linoleum.

Dean was stunned into silence.

"My behaviour that day was completely unacceptable, not to mention uncalled for," the man continued. "Castiel, I extend my apologies to you also." Gordon's voice was wooden, mechanical. If he hadn't been standing right in front of him, Dean would never have believed that this was the same man who, in a fit of fury, had tried to smash his skull with a dumb-bell.

"Do you accept my apology?" the shell that looked like Gordon asked.

Dean was silent, still speechless. Castiel poked him.

"Uh – yeah, I guess...thanks?"

Gordon bowed his head again. "You are welcome, Dean Winchester. I give you my thanks as well." He walked away.

There was a brief moment of silence in the canteen before the other patients lost interest and continued their conversations. Dean stayed stiff and silent, brain desperately turning to try and comprehend what had just happened.

"Dean?" Castiel nudged him softly, sounding concerned.

Dean heaved a deep breath. "That wasn't Gordon, was it?" he said.

Castiel didn't reply.

"That could have been me," Dean mumbled. "That _would_ have been me, if it weren't for Kevin and Alfie." He turned to face his friend, eyes like flint. "Are you still going to tell me we don't have enough proof? Because that was not the Gordon Walker of two weeks ago. That was...empty. We can't just wait and see what they're going to do to Alfie, or Kevin, wait for them to turn into that! Cas, we have to make a move," he insisted, voice still low. "Strike while the iron is hot, all that shit. They know we know something, or they will soon. There's no point acting innocent now."

Castiel looked pained, but nodded. "I understand," he said. "You are right. Whatever they did to Gordon was certainly not legal, or natural. But..." He hesitated. "I'm scared, Dean. We have no idea what we're up against."

"I know. But we can't back down, not unless we want to turn into that."

"No. We cannot."

* * *

"You guys did _what_?!"

Dean raised his hands in a placating gesture. Castiel closed his eyes, accepting his fate.

"C'mon, Kev, I know it sounds bad, but hear us out!" Dean bargained, determined to warn Kevin of the danger he was in.

"You're damn right it sounds bad," Kevin told him, incensed. "You _stole_ the staff reports from Raphael's office?! If it was just Dean...but Castiel?" Castiel looked shamefully at the ground. "You two have no idea how serious this is."

Dean winced. He'd known it was going to be hard to convince Kevin of their good intentions, but the ways things were going, he wasn't sure whether he'd ever be able to get a significant word in edgeways.

"Can I just ask one question?" Kevin snapped.

"You just did."

"Dean. Timing."

"Sorry."

" _Why_? Why did you steal the reports?" The trainee scraped a hand over his face, looking exhausted.

Dean worried his lip. "We think...something's going on."

"What do you mean?"

"Here, at Balt's. Something weird's happening, Kevin, and we don't even know the extent of it yet," Dean insisted urgently. "When I was in that room, with Naomi...it wasn't natural, Kevin, and I don't believe in any of that supernatural crap, but something definitely happened. Just look at Gordon, that guy's barely even alive anymore!" He knew it sounded weak. But it was the best he could do.

Kevin's face morphed into one of sympathy and Dean realised his best just wasn't enough. "Dean," the young doctor said gently, all anger removed from his voice. "When the mind's under stress, it can create things, things that might _seem_ real, but –"

"Don't give me that!" Dean spat. "Don't you dare: I may be crazy, but I know what's real. And that was fucking real, okay?"

"I'm sure." The sarcasm in Kevin's voice signified the end of his tether. "Real or not, Dean, do you really think this was worth manipulating Castiel into theft of private documents? What –"

"Hang on!" Dean interrupted again. " _Manipulating_? I never did! It was his idea, I'd never make him do anything! Cas, tell him."

Castiel said nothing, staring fixedly at the ground. Dean swore.

Kevin grimaced, not enjoying to any degree the anguish on their faces. "Look, Dean. I understand that Castiel is your friend, and that you might think you're helping him, helping _me_ , even, but you have to understand –"

Dean was at the brink of sanity. "No. _You_ have to understand. Listen to me, you son of a bitch, there was stuff on your report, and it was scary, scary shit. Alfie's was ten times worse. You know what Raphael suggested for you two? _Removal_. Not dismissal. _Removal_. Tell me that doesn't sound worrying," he challenged.

Kevin looked him dead in the eye. "I think it sounds like none of your business, and that you are making a huge fuss over nothing," he stated coolly. "You are both extremely lucky that I'm not going to report you. Where are the staff reports?"

Castiel handed them over without a word. Dean didn't try to stop him.

Slipping the booklet into the pocket of his white coat, Kevin said, "I will put these back on Raphael's desk immediately. I won't mention a word of this to anyone, and if you two have any brains between you, you won't either. I'll see you tomorrow." He walked briskly off.

Sagging against a wall, Dean groaned aloud. "Shit. That couldn't have gone much worse."

Castiel hummed in agreement, looking decidedly unhappy.

"Hey," Dean said after a moment's hesitation. "Do you think I'm like Andy? Am I manipulating you?" He hated how obvious the worry was in his voice.

"Of course not," Castiel assured him, meeting his eyes for the first time since they'd stopped Kevin after group. "I am your friend completely out of my own volition."

Dean nodded. "Okay," he said weakly.

He couldn't shake the slightly sick feeling in his stomach for the rest of the day, and it wouldn't let him sleep that night.

* * *

Kevin slipped into Raphael's office at seven that evening, when he knew his boss was in a meeting with Naomi and the chairmen. He placed the reports on the desk, hoped they hadn't been missed, and turned to leave.

There was a shadow in the doorway.

Stumbling back, Kevin yelped in shock, nearly tripping over the chair directly behind him.

"Kevin, what on earth are you doing?" the shadow asked. It was Alfie.

Kevin let out a long breath, relaxing again. "Jeez, man, don't do that," he complained. "I nearly pissed myself."

"What are you doing here?" Alfie asked again, stepping into the light.

Kevin weighed his chances of getting away with a good excuse.

"Were those the staff reports you just put on Raphael's desk?"

Crap.

"Uh," Kevin stalled. "Kind of?"

Alfie looked at him expectantly.

Kevin sighed. "Okay. Dean and Castiel took them. They're – or at least Dean is – paranoid that something unsavoury's going on in the hospital. They caught me after group and gave them back."

Alfie frowned. "They just owned up to it?"

"Well, yeah."

"You're hiding something." There was no doubt whatsoever in Alfie's voice, and Kevin was suddenly reminded of the Samandriel who had been introduced to his as his mentor when he'd been new at Balt's.

Kevin laughed to cover up his discomfort, knowing it was useless. "I keep forgetting you're such a good psychiatrist," he said jokingly.

Alfie did not smile.

Kevin's false laugh died in his throat. "Alright. Fine. Dean said he and Castiel found something in the reports...in _our_ reports, I should say. I think they were reading too much into it, it sounded far-fetched to me. Gordon's new outlook on life has alarmed them a bit, I think –"

"What did they see in our reports?" Alfie interrupted, something he never did.

Kevin blinked. "Something about dismissal. No, 'removal' was what they said. Just sounds like Raphael's awkward phrasing, if you ask..." He trailed off at the look of blind panic in Alfie's eyes. "Alfie?"

"Removal? Are you sure? _Why_?"

Staggered, Kevin shrugged. "They didn't say. I didn't exactly ask for the details, these are confidential documents."

Alfie nodded absently. "Yes, of course, of course." The worry on his face didn't lessen, and he muttered something under his breath. Kevin thought he caught the words 'disobedience' and 'Dean'.

Feeling the creepings of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, Kevin took a step towards his friend. "Alfie, what's wrong? Why are you looking like that?" Alfie's face did not move, and Kevin continued, voice strangled in fear of the ears in the walls. " _Is_ something going on? Because I know about the effects a change of medication can have on an individual, but Gordon's transformation even alarmed me. Are they using immoral treatments on the patients? Dean said –"

"Kevin," Alfie interrupted again. His voice was urgent. "You have to be careful. You can't mention this to anyone. Anyone at all."

"Who am I going to tell?" Kevin asked, flabbergasted. "I wasn't even going to tell _you_! But Alfie, please tell me if there's something..." He lowered his voice, " _illegal_ happening. Please, I won't judge you for your family's actions, I know you have nothing to do with it –"

"But I _do_!" Alfie hissed, face ashen and wan. "I do, Kevin, and I hate it, I hate it here, in this place...it's wrong, unnatural. It's _sick_!"

Kevin's breath quickened with his heartbeat. "So something is happening? What?"

Alfie shook his head, eyes wide with horror. "I can't tell you," he breathed. "They'll send me back home."

"Who will? Your family? They'd fire you for telling me something I have a right to know anyway? There are laws against that!"

"Laws don't come into it," Alfie told him, voice almost empty it was so cold. "And neither does being fired."

Kevin opened his mouth to reply, but stopped, eyes wide and mouth hanging in limbo.

"What are you two doing here at this time of night?" came Raphael's deep, level voice. Alfie's face turned grey. "Is there a problem?"

Regaining his composure, Alfie cleared his throat and replied, "No problem. We were just checking to see if there was a copy of the timetable in here. We've lost ours."

Raphael's eyes burned first into his brother's face, then Kevin's. "I see. I will have copies printed for the both of you first thing tomorrow morning. Have a good night." His expression didn't move an inch.

Ducking their heads, Kevin and Alfie made for the door, willing their legs not to hurry.

"Oh, and Junior Doctor Tran," Raphael called after them.

Kevin turned, hoping he wasn't sweating as much as he felt he was. "Yes, sir?"

Raphael smiled, the first time Kevin had ever seen something that even remotely classed as an expression on the man's face. He didn't like it one bit.

"Give Castiel my thanks for the return of the staff reports."

Kevin gulped, nodded, and left. He and Alfie did not exchange a single word on the way back to their rooms.


	13. Chapter 13

Kevin did not sleep well that night. He lay awake for hours on end, staring up at the ceiling and seeing Alfie's ashen, horrified face staring down at him.

At around three am, just as he slipped into exhausted unconsciousness, the face shifted into that of Raphael. He was smiling.

* * *

_Beep. Beep beep. Beep beep._

Jerking awake with a gasp, Kevin slammed a hand down on his alarm clock. His heard was racing, as it always did when he was woken up suddenly, and it took him a moment to calm down.

The worry was still churning in the pit of his stomach, so violent he felt sick. It scared him that Dean and Castiel may have been right; that there may have been more to Balt's than the surface. Because that would have meant that he had been part of it, whatever it was. He would have played a role, _been_ playing a role, no matter how minor, and it scared him. Because Kevin was no longer sure about who he was.

Heaving a shaky sigh, Kevin scraped a hand down his face. He felt more tired than when he had gone to sleep, his eyes heavy and his body languid. Forcing himself out of the warm bed and into the freezing cold air was more difficult than ever, and he threw on his clothes as quickly as he could. The fabric was chilled and just made him colder, shivers trickling down his spine.

Checking the clock, Kevin saw that he had more than enough time to spare before breakfast. Alfie would be awake; the guy woke up at ungodly hours, even after a long night. He was nearly out of his door before he caught a glance of his reflection and remembered he hadn't combed his hair, which was doing a commendable impression of a surprised hedgehog.

Exiting his room a minute later with a more respectable appearance, Kevin knocked on the next door, expecting to hear a warm reply within seconds.

No sound.

Frowning, and wondering whether Alfie had somehow overslept, Kevin knocked again, slightly louder.

No reply came.

Muttering under his breath, Kevin tried the handle. The door was unlocked. He opened it and stepped inside, eyes searching the room for his friend. He froze, wide-eyed, and choked, suddenly unable to breath. He staggered backwards into the door, which slammed shut with a crash that didn't make Kevin flinch at all, despite the deafening noise. He pressed himself against the wood, breathing loud and panicked.

Kevin opened his mouth and screamed, and screamed, and screamed. No sound escaped his throat.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean was yanked into consciousness as his door slammed open and shut in quick succession, starling him so much that he almost fell out of bed. Bleary-eyed, he checked the amount of light seeping through his home-made curtain and deduced that it must have been only just past eight.

Turning towards the intruder and preparing to chew them out thoroughly for interrupting his beauty rest, Dean instead blinked and stopped. The invader was not a patient, as he'd been expecting. It was Kevin. Wild-eyed, grey and sweaty, but most certainly Kevin nonetheless.

Momentarily speechless and wishing he slept with a shirt on, Dean just stared at his group doctor. Kevin stared back, chest still heaving from his evident sprint from the staff wing and hands shaking violently.

Dean broke the silence. "Kevin? What's wrong?"

Kevin stared at him still, tears gathering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. Swallowing thickly, he tried again. "I believe you," he rasped.

Dean was confused for a split second before he remembered their topic of conversation the night before.

"You think we're right? About Balt's?" he asked, to make sure.

Kevin nodded, closing his eyes as if in pain.

Dean hesitated a moment longer before lurching out of bed. "Stay here," he ordered, before rushing past Kevin and out of the room.

He stopped outside Room 108 and knocked as an after-thought. He opened the door before waiting for a reply.

Castiel wasn't in his room, and Dean's heart seized in his throat before he realised the shower was running. Walking over to the door and knocking loudly, Dean hopped impatiently from foot to foot as he waited for Castiel to reply. The shower was turned off, and he heard the rustle of the shower curtain being pulled back.

"Cas, it's me!" Dean called, running a hand through his already messy hair. "We have a bit of an emergency."

More rustling, and then the door was pulled open, revealing a damp, shivering Castiel with a towel wrapped tightly around his body. "What is it?" he asked, no irritation at being interrupted present in his face. He regarded Dean with concern, unsubtly scanning his body for any injuries.

"Not me," Dean explained "Kevin. Something's happened."

Castiel looked blank for a second before alarm tightened his features and he strode to the fresh clothes that were folded on his bed, pulling them on. Dean averted his eyes awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his hands in agitation. It couldn't have taken more than a minute for Castiel to finish dressing, damp as he was, but for Dean it felt like an anxious eternity.

Finally he was finished, and they were rushing out of Castiel's room and into Dean's. Kevin was sitting on the rumpled bed, head in his hands and body trembling incessantly. He looked up in fright as they entered, relief palpable on his face as he recognised them.

Dean approached him carefully, sitting down next to him on the mattress. "What happened, Kevin?" he asked, forcing his voice to be calm.

Inhaling shakily, Kevin lifted his head, staring blankly at the wall behind Castiel. "I think I'm going mad," he admitted, voice cracked and broken.

"I've heard mental asylums do that," Dean said, perhaps more insensitively than he intended. Trying to rectify it, he added, "But you're probably the most sane person in this building, Kevin. Take it from me, you're about as far from crazy as they get."

Kevin turned to him, eyes desperate. "Then how do I explain what I've seen?" he moaned, as if pleading Dean to help him.

Shooting a glance at Castiel, who nodded at him despite the apprehension evident on his face, Dean pressed the point. "What did you see, Kevin?"

Kevin shut his eyes again, rubbing his temples. After a long pause, he opened his mouth and whispered, "Alfie."

Cold dread filled Dean's chest. "What do you mean?"

Kevin bit his lip, a painful sob convulsing his body. "He's _dead_ ," he choked.

A long, long silence. Dean was stiff as a statue and Castiel was frozen in place, panic in his eyes.

Eventually, Kevin gathered himself enough to continue. "He...caught me putting the reports back on Raphael's desk," he told them. "He said that something _was_ going on, something dangerous. I think all the Balts are in on it. I asked him what, but he wouldn't say, and then Raphael appeared."

Castiel bit his lip, hands tugging on his sleeves. His face was pale as carved marble.

"We fed him some bullshit story. He obviously wasn't fooled, but he let us go. He knows about it, Castiel. He knows you took them." He looked straight at Castiel, who looked ready to throw up. "We went back to our rooms, I went to sleep. But when I woke up, and knocked on his door –" He sobbed again, trying desperately to calm himself down. He breathed deeply for a moment, forcibly regaining his composure and finished, "There were scorch marks _everywhere_ , all up the walls and the furniture – and then in the middle of it all..." Kevin gulped. "His...his eyes were burned away." he finished in a painful whisper, and there were tears rolling down his cheeks as his eyes saw a memory that was as fresh as if it were right before them.

Dean was speechless.

 _Would highly recommend removal_.

They'd thought it would be bad, definitely, but _this_? Alfie was their _brother_ , for Christ's sake, blood or not! If this was what they did to a wayward family member...

"We have to get you out of here," Dean said in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

Kevin looked at him incredulously. "What?"

"You have to get out. Don't you see? This is a warning! They already suspected you of helping us out, and now they have concrete proof. Think about it: they already knew Alfie'd broken a few rules, but they barely did shit about it. All he did this time was tell you what you were already thinking, it hardly justifies murder! Or, if we're going from the cold-blooded perspective, fire damage to property."

Kevin just blinked at him, eyes red and puffy.

Hesitantly, Castiel dragged up the chair from Dean's desk and sat on it, eyes fixed on the floor. "Dean is right," he said quietly.

Kevin turned in shock at the sound of his voice, and Dean smiled at his friend in grateful relief. Kevin would listen to Castiel, because he knew Castiel would not talk unless it was of the utmost importance.

Clearing his throat, Castiel continued. "All things considered, this does sound like a final warning. You've been bending rules since you came, with the books and the laptop and the pens – though we are all very grateful for it," he added hurriedly, throwing Kevin a stiff smile. "But the Balts are everywhere, they must have noticed. They obviously didn't think it was important: we're a low-volatility group, and if any incidents did happen, all official blame would fall on you. But letting Dean out, helping patients obtain confidential information..."

Kevin frowned. "I never helped," he stated guardedly, "I was doing the opposite."

Castiel shook his head. "Not in their view. You were returning the reports to save us getting caught trying to do it ourselves. And apparently, it was one step too far, and you needed to be put in check."

Kevin gulped. "So what happened to Alfie was my fault." His voice was hollow.

Dean swore, rubbing his forehead violently. "Of course it wasn't!" he insisted. "They're insane: take that from an expert. None of this is on you, Kevin, nothing at all. All you have to do is get the fuck out while you still can – when does your training finish?"

Kevin scrubbed a hand over his face. "Only about a month now," he said. "But I already said I'd be willing to make the placement permanent, until I decided to find another job."

"Well, you can say you changed your mind. It's hardly unheard of!"

"They're unlikely to fight you," Castiel added. "As far as they're concerned, you're a liability."

"But I'm even more of a liability _outside_ ," Kevin reminded them. "At least in here I can't wander off and tell everything to the authorities!"

"Look, Dean reasoned, "the best you can do is try to get out, and the worst they can do is say no. Then we go to Plan B."

Castiel and Kevin looked at him. "What is Plan B?" Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. "Think of a Plan C?"

Castiel rolled his eyes, and Kevin even cracked a weak smile. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he said, shaking his head. "Here I am, vulnerable as anything in a patient's room, confiding in certified inmates." He barked out a short, hysterical laugh.

Dean scoffed. "Well, don't go giving us any ideas, Kevin, us crazies could snap any minute," he warned sarcastically, shooting an exasperated look at Castiel.

Kevin shook his head. "That's the point."

"Well, if you want us to be able to help you, I'm afraid you're gonna have to be a little more trusting than that. We might be mad, but we're not traitors."

"No, I didn't mean that," Kevin told him.

Dean squinted at him, thoroughly confused. "Mean _what_?"

"That you could snap any minute. The point _is_ , there's such a big deal here about how _dangerous_ the patients are. All through my training it's been constant: don't let a patient catch you alone in a secluded area, don't go alone into a patient's room, don't trust the patients, don't speak to the patients unless necessary, don't let your authority slip, don't let them think you're weak, don't show them any pressure points, it's _ridiculous_! Because you know what? I know I have the least volatile patients of them all, but apart from Chuck's anxiety, Charlie's uncontrollable mouth and your select mutism," he nodded at Castiel, "I haven't seen anything that justifies you guys being put in a place like this, a place so secluded and separate. Dean, I haven't seen _anything_ from you! You have a temper; so does everyone. That's _it_."

"Trust me, Kevin," Dean sighed, "I'm supposed to be here."

"You weren't saying that when you first came here," Castiel reminded him in a low voice. "You said you didn't feel insane. That you didn't feel like you belonged. What happened to change that?"

"You know very well what happened." Dean glowered into his friend's eyes and was given as good as he got.

Of course Castiel knew what had changed: Dean had discovered he couldn't trust himself anymore. He couldn't remember, and the things he _could_ remember were completely, undeniably impossible. But there was always that niggling feeling, that certainty, that whatever he'd seen – no matter how impossible – must have been true. Because he remembered it. And this certainty, no matter how many nights Dean lay awake trying to reason with it, would not leave. Crazy people always believed what they told themselves. And so Dean must have been crazy. There was no other explanation.

Kevin sniffed a bit and drew himself upright, regaining his calm exterior. "Dean," he said. "I don't know for sure what happened, but I'm pretty certain it took place in that room after you were attacked by Gordon." Dean flinched at that, and Kevin noticed. He didn't say a thing. "But take it from someone who's been trained in this since school: you are not criminally insane. I've read your file, I know what happened, but –"

Dean sat up sharply. "You know?" he asked wildly before he could stop himself.

"Of course I know, how else would I be able to help?"

Kevin hadn't noticed, Dean realised. Kevin didn't see that he couldn't remember anything, that Castiel, of all people, knew more about his past than he did. Even without looking, Dean knew his friend was staring at him, wondering what he would say, how he would react. Dean surprised them both.

"Whatever," he said, feigning nonchalance. "But surely I know myself better than you. No offence intended towards your proficiency as a doctor or anything, but it's _my_ mind."

"I understand," Kevin told him, even though he didn't at all. "I know that you feel unsure about whether you can trust your own self, and I know what that can do to people. But Dean: this isn't a matter of whether you're mentally ill or not. We both know you have some issues that need to be sorted out. It's not a matter of whether you should be in a hospital or not. It's a matter of whether you should be _here_. No one leaves this place once they've entered. It's not a rehabilitation centre; it's the end point, the last chapter, for people who have no hope of returning to normal society. And I don't think for one second that you, or Charlie, or Chuck, or even you, Castiel, are justified in being here. You can be rehabilitated, with the right treatment. But you're not getting the right treatment, and you're not being rehabilitated. I ignored it before; I'm only a trainee and the bosses always know best, right? Well, I don't believe that anymore. This place has something wrong with it, I can see that now. It just makes me furious that it took my friend's _murder_ to realise!"

As he looked at the boy – because really, Dean thought, that was what Kevin was – he saw anger. Anger at himself, the staff, the whole establishment. What he didn't see was doubt. Kevin, no matter how insane the things he'd seen had been, was doubting himself for not one minute. And so, Dean thought, if he didn't know if he could trust himself, he knew he could at least trust Kevin.

Kevin and Castiel. The only two people in this godforsaken building that he was completely certain of.

* * *

When Kevin left Dean's room half an hour later, they'd worked out the beginnings of a plan. They would go around business as normal, no mention of Alfie; keeping themselves out of the spotlight was the main priority for now.

Kevin would inform Raphael in about a week that he wished to leave Balt's, perhaps to join a different hospital or to freelance. That part wasn't so important. Meanwhile, Castiel and Dean would take a break from stealing highly confidential documents. As Kevin had told them with minimal scruples, it was a fucking stupid thing to do, not to mention risky. Kevin would give them all the information he could, but he wasn't going to stick his neck under the guillotine for them. Dean could understand that.

The main aim was to get Kevin out. If Kevin escaped, he could report Balt's to the authorities, stir up a media scandal – those always worked out well in their country. He would have proof, they'd ensure that. And then – if everything went according to plan – it would all be over.

Dean felt a huge sense of relief at the mere sight of an end point. It felt as if he'd been at Balt's for years, that aeons stretched between the Dean who had walked through the gates with a silent security guard and the Dean who sat brooding in his room with a silent inmate.

It was all going to be over, at some point.

And that was all the assurance Dean needed.

* * *

"Hey," Lisa greeted him, slipping her arms around his torso. "You weren't at breakfast. Did something happen?"

Dean forced a casual posture, enveloping her hands with his own. "Nah," he told her. "I overslept."

Lisa laughed quietly and playfully kissed the nape of his neck. "I thought as much. Meg was creating conspiracy theories all through her bacon, though."

Dean shook his head; he could believe it. "How was your visit yesterday?" he asked.

"Brilliant." Lisa's voice was light and full of love as she spoke. "He's grown again, of course, but it doesn't bother me so much anymore. He's more handsome than cute now." She released his waist and took him firmly by the hand, dragging him to the sofa. "Come on now, you asked," she sang. "You have to listen while I tell you everything."

Dean laughed at her glee as she sat him down and told him all the minute details of Ben's life. The kid did sound pretty awesome, he had to say, but then his source was a bit biased.

She was in the middle of telling him how Ben ("the brave little soldier!") had broken up a fight at the orphanage when she suddenly frowned, all motherly adoration wiped from her face.

"That reminds me," she said. "There was a fight at breakfast today."

Dean sat up, alert. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Pff!" Lisa scoffed at him. "Of course not, it was barely more than a pissing contest before the orderlies stepped in. Chet, the idiot, made a fuss because Benny took the last of the beans, and well...you know how Benny is." She shrugged. "They didn't even come to blows, though I think Chet was about to. But then an orderly sorted them both out; they're in isolation for the rest of the day, I think."

"Isolation, or...?" Dean shot her a meaningful look.

Lisa rolled her eyes at him. "Just isolation, Dean. They're not strict enough to send people _there_ for a teeny stand-off. It was weird though..."

"What was weird?" Dean pushed gently.

Lisa bit her lip. "Alfie wasn't managing the queue this morning. That's never happened before. I hope he's not sick." She frowned in concern. Alfie was Lisa's group leader, Dean recalled, of course she'd be worried about him.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he lied. "Maybe he overslept too."

Lisa snorted and shoved him playfully. "Not everyone's as bone lazy as you," she teased.

They played cards (rummy) for a good few hours that morning, Meg deeming their company unworthy of her presence. Eventually, Dean tired of the consecutive losses and suggested they do something else.

"What did you have in mind?" Lisa asked with a slightly smug smile. She was unused to winning (having previously had Meg as her only opponent) and was enjoying it immensely.

Dean shrugged. "I dunno really, I was just kind of hoping that I wouldn't have to keep on getting my ass thrashed for foreseeable futures. That kind of stuff's no good for a man's ego."

Lisa's smile turned mischievous, and she leaned in, pressing her lips against his ear. Dean had to suppress a shiver at the warm air she sent curling across his jaw.

"We could always relocate," she murmured, smirk audible.

Dean raised an eyebrow, pulling away slightly to look her in the face. "What happened to taking it slow?" he asked, amused.

Lisa shrugged. "I got bored. And anyway, I expect you to keep your hands to yourself, for the most part. We've only known each other for a short time, after all."

"Seems pretty long to me," Dean said.

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Men. Always so horny. But I do have a proper reason: I doubt you have a condom stash anywhere in your room."

Dean blinked. "Shit." He'd completely forgotten about the existence of protection. " _Shit_! I have to ask Kevin for _that_?!"

Lisa squared her shoulders. "Apologies, soldier, but I think you'll survive it. I refuse to even risk having to go to Naomi and ask for the morning after pill."

Dean sighed. "Understood. Fair enough."

Lisa grinned at him. "Thanks for not pushing. Let's go!" She grabbed him by both of his hands and pulled him towards the door.

"Keep it quiet, you two!" Mr Fizzles called after them mockingly.

"Fucking Mr Fizzles," Dean muttered under his breath. Lisa snorted with mirth.

She led him to her room, Number 100, and opened the door with highly unnecessary dramatics.

"Welcome to my humble abode," she joked. "Very humble abode indeed."

It was almost exactly the same as Dean's own room, except the window was on the other side of the room. Dean commented on this, saying it was unfair that he had to get woken up by sunbeams on his face everyday, but Lisa shook her head.

"No way, I'm worse off," she insisted. "In summer, it doesn't get dark for ages and I'm sitting up half the night with a bloody setting sun burning my eyes out."

Dean winced at the metaphor and Lisa gave him an odd look. She said nothing.

"Do you have any other family?" Dean asked to fill the silence.

"Technically." Lisa shrugged, seemingly unbothered. "They all disowned me after I got pregnant with Ben, bigoted dicks. Then I broke up with my boyfriend and ended up here."

"How do you mean?" Dean didn't even bother to try and hide his confusion. "Why did you get sent here?" Realising even as the words left his mouth that it was hardly a tactful question, he quickly backtracked. "Actually, never mind! Forget I asked."

"Nah, it's okay," Lisa told him. "I stopped being sensitive about it long ago. Simply put, my so-called boyfriend was an abusive dickhead and one day I got the hell in with him and smashed his head in. I didn't mean to do quite as much damage as I did, but I got my point across."

"Uh, how much damage _did_ you do, exactly?" Dean asked carefully.

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're asking. He just went to hospital for quite a long time. They never told me if there was any lasting damage. I just hope it convinced him to treat women a bit better from then on."

"I'm sure it did." Dean didn't know why he was surprised: Lisa was in a mental asylum, it was a given that she'd have some kind of backstory. But still, he could not reconcile the Lisa he'd got to know with the Lisa she was telling him about. He supposed that was the nature of insanity.

"But less talk about that arrogant douche, I'm sure it would bore you, you being one yourself," Lisa teased, poking him in the side where she knew he was most ticklish after one particularly unfortunate afternoon. Dean flinched away from her hand.

"Hey," he warned. "I thought we established that tickling was off the agenda."

"Did we?" Lisa's eyes were wide and innocent. "Whenever could we have done that?"

Wary, Dean backed away. Lisa advanced upon him. Inevitably, his back hit the wall, and he searched desperately for a way of escape as she continued to stalk forward.

Halfway through a step, Lisa lunged. Dean was ready. He grabbed her hands safely in his and pulled her towards him. Her balance failed her and she tumbled, allowing Dean to easily twist them around so she was caught between the wall and him.

"You'll never take me alive," he whispered dramatically before he pressed their lips together.

Lisa resisted only for appearances, melting in his arms as soon as he pressed a little more firmly against her mouth. She parted her lips readily for him, but he didn't take advantage of her permission, choosing instead to drag his lips across her jaw and down the smooth line of her neck, pressing kisses against her erratically pulsing jugular. Lisa was having none of it, and grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging him back up and shoving her tongue into his mouth. Dean reciprocated with fervour.

He ran his hand through her hair, enjoying the feeling of almost never-ending silk. He buried his fingers in it as she bit his lower lip and pushed against his chest, trying to escape from her temporary prison. He stepped back and guided them to the bed. They sank down in unison, missing the bed and ending up on the floor rather than the mattress, but despite the rather uncomfortably hard floorboards, Dean found he didn't mind a bit.

"Oi, Lisa!" They jumped out of their skins. "Quit shagging your boyfriend, it's lunch already!"

It was Meg, who had already disappeared by the time Lisa threw open the door to murder her.

Still seething, she turned to face Dean. "I suppose we'd better go down," she said. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"Don't mention it. Please."

They walked into the canteen together, both blushing an embarrassing shade of red when Mr Fizzles wolf-whistled at them from across the room.

Ellen served them both a bowlful of soup and a bit of bread. Dean was about to follow Lisa and go to sit with Meg (whose smug smile was almost painful to look at) when he noticed Castiel, alone and pale in the corner.

Suddenly it all came back to him, all that he'd somehow managed to forget with Lisa. Alfie, Kevin, Castiel. Dean felt a roiling in the pit of his stomach that felt almost like guilt. How could he have let himself cavort around when Alfie was dead, when Kevin was in danger, when Castiel was scared? He felt despicable.

"Hey," he said to Lisa, suddenly subdued. "Do you mind if I don't sit with you guys today? I haven't eaten with Cas in a while."

"Sure," Lisa told him, looking concerned. "Are you okay? You looked stressed all of a sudden."

"I keep on feeling like Gordon's staring at me," Dean bullshitted.

Lisa glanced behind him, where the man was sat. "He's not. He's looking outside."

Stiffly, Dean nodded. He walked to sit opposite Castiel, leaving Lisa behind. He put his bowl down without a word.

Castiel greeted him with a look, in the way that only he could do. Dean could see the strain of everything in the lines around his eyes, the dark purple bruises rimming them.

"How're you coping?" he asked, even though it was pointless.

"Badly," Castiel answered.

"You think talking would help a bit?" Dean prompted gently, though he wasn't at all eager to think about all the danger that lay before... _around_ them. He wanted Castiel's body to stop looking so brittle, like he could crumble at any moment.

Castiel sighed. "Possibly. I can't seem to reconcile myself with Alfie's..." he trailed off, glancing around as he remembered where they were. "Well, I keep expecting to see him at the staff table, laughing with Kevin. And I am worried about Kevin, too. Look at him."

Dean looked at where Kevin sat, with the rest of the staff, and promptly wished he hadn't. Kevin looked dead, and the thought made Dean's stomach twist. He pushed his soup away.

"But I am concerned about you especially," Castiel admitted to his own bowl, which sat cooling in front of him.

Dean frowned. "Why especially? If anything, Kevin's the one..."

"No, Dean," Castiel said. "You are putting yourself at great risk."

"What do you mean?"

Castiel inhaled shakily. "You'll be angry with me."

"Of course I won't, Cas. Just spit it out!"

Castiel raised his head and looked Dean steadily in the eye. "You need to separate yourself from Lisa Braeden." His voice was low, steady, determined.

Dean didn't understand. "What? Why?"

"She can and will be used against you. You're not even hiding it, Dean, what do you think you're doing? You're putting her in mortal danger for no reason at all! If something happens to her, you will be hurt, and they know that. So you need to back off."

"You have got to be shitting me."

Dean glowered at Castiel, who glared straight back. Neither of their gazes wavered.

"I am dead serious."

Dean was enraged, and he knew why. Because Castiel was right.

"You know what?! You don't understand shit!"

"Do elaborate."

"Who the fuck do you think you are, coming out with all that crap? You have no idea! I need it, I _need_ her."

"Why? And how does your "need" justify –?"

"Shut _up_! I need to get out, okay? I need to escape this fucking hell hole!" Dean spat out the words viciously. "And the way things are going, that's not going to happen any time soon, if ever. So I need Lisa to forget. I need to forget everything, just for a few minutes. I need to forget Alfie, Kevin, Naomi, I need to forget _you_! So don't you dare tell me I have no reason when you'll _never_ understand that!"

"I can understand if you –"

" _No you can't_! You'll never understand anything like that! Look at you! You get nauseated doing anything that involves more contact than hand-holding! Who would want to be with _you_?"

Castiel's stony mask suddenly shattered and his face underneath was far, far too vulnerable. Dean knew he'd gone too far. He stood up and stalked away anyway.


	15. Fragments

Dean met Naomi on his way out of the canteen.

"I hope you haven't forgotten our meeting today, Mr Winchester."

He had. Shit.

Sitting in her office and fiddling with the ripped upholstery on his chair, Dean wished Naomi would say something more interesting, so he didn't have to keep thinking about what he'd done to Castiel.

" _Look at you!"_

" _Who would want to be with you?"_

Dean wondered if guilt could physically eat through one's intestines. It felt like it.

"Mr Winchester? Did you hear me?"

Crap, Naomi was still talking.

"Sorry, I zoned out for a bit. What did you say?"

"I asked whether you feel as if you have settled in at Balt's."

Dean pretended to mull over it a bit, though it was hardly needed, giving that she asked the question three times a session. "Yeah, I reckon so. I know everyone by name, I've talked to most of them..."

"But do you feel settled?"

Dean doubted he ever would. "Yeah. I'm comfortable here."

"Good."

* * *

As Dean sat in the group meeting a few hours later, staring hard into his lap to avoid even a glimpse of Castiel, he admitted bitterly to himself that he'd really fucked up this time. The first mishap, when he was new and overwhelmed and angry, had been excusable. Castiel had forgiven him. Not this time. Dean was still angry, but he had no right to be; even less of a right to take it out on his only friend in the world.

Only friend in the world. The thought made Dean feel incredibly lonely, especially when he remembered that Castiel was now gone for good. Lisa was lovely, of course she was, but even Dean wasn't fool enough to think that whatever they had would last. They were like a short fuse, burning out far too quickly. It was just a matter of time.

Dean glanced at Kevin out of the corner of his eye. He'd been surprised when he'd entered to find the kid setting up chairs, even though they'd agreed to go around business as normal. Kevin was strong, Dean realised. Much stronger than he'd given him credit for. He still looked peaky, though.

Charlie seemed to have noticed as well. She interrupted their doctor in the middle of a sentence. "Kev, are you all right?"

Kevin stared at her like he'd never seen her before while he came to his senses. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Didn't sleep much last night is all."

"Okay." Charlie fiddled with her bright hair, something she only did when she was uncomfortable (which wasn't often).

Dean felt despair when he looked around their small circle and saw how subdued everyone was compared to how they'd been when he met them. Kevin looked utterly drained, Charlie was shrunken in on herself, Chuck hadn't said a single word, and Castiel...well. Dean didn't really want to see what Castiel looked like.

"We're really not going anywhere with this, are we?" Kevin finally said, the absence of his normal rueful smile painfully noticeable.

They all helped him pack away in silence, then walked their separate ways. Charlie went to the rec room, Kevin went to the staff wing, and Chuck, Castiel and Dean sloped back to their respective rooms. Dean wished he and Castiel were on opposite sides of the building. The man was walking right behind him, and Dean could feel his eyes on the back of his neck, blaming him, hating him.

He suddenly had to fight tears. He was ridiculous.

He stepped into his room and shut the door too quietly. He fell face down onto his bed, any tears greedily soaked up by the pillow, and tumbled into a sleep filled with gasps of memory-dreams.

* * *

Dean was ripped awake by a gentle knock on the door.

"Cas?" he called blearily, forgetting.

"No, just me, I'm afraid," Lisa called from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?"

Dean grunted his approval and re-buried his face in his pillow. Lisa peeked around the door.

"You're looking great today," she told him brightly. "Now eat."

Dean looked up, confused. Sure enough, Lisa was holding a plate with a sandwich on it. It looked like cheese and pickle.

"Where did you get that?"

"Ellen made it up. She's worried about you too, you know."

"Why?"

Lisa rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair. "Dean, you haven't eaten all day. You didn't eat that much last night, either."

"Feel sick."

"Because you haven't eaten. Now eat."

"Piss off."

"No. Eat. I'm not above calling Castiel in to back me up."

Dean rolled over and grabbed the sandwich. "You are way more trouble than you're worth," he grumbled before he gingerly bit into it.

"I'll give you until you're in a better mood to apologise for that," Lisa warned, crossing her arms.

"Sorry."

A quick smile. "All is forgiven. Good?"

"Mm."

"Great. Now what's up?"

Dean looked at her warily. He swallowed his mouthful. "Nothing," he lied.

"Bullcrap. You look ill, Dean, and twenty years older than you did a week ago. What's worrying you?"

Dean sighed, his eyelids suddenly feeling lime rocks despite his nap. "Everything."

"What do you mean?"

"Just...everything. I'm tired, but I can't sleep for longer than a couple of hours. I'm worrying my ass off, but I can't do anything about it. And I just keep on _fucking up_!"

Lisa looked sympathetic. "Did you and Castiel fight again?"

Dean avoided her eyes. "No...yes...it was pretty much just me being a dick."

"How much of a dick?"

"A big one. Unimaginably big."

"You gonna apologise?"

"I dunno."

"If you don't, you really will be a dick."

"Yeah. I know."

Lisa stood there a few moments longer before she sighed and walked out of the door. Dean lay back on his pillow and tried to return to the land of dreams, even if it wasn't very pleasant. But his thoughts were inconsolable, forever lamenting over his failings and berating him for his uselessness and eventually he gave up and exited the room.

* * *

Crowley looked up in surprise when Dean entered his infirmary without knocking.

"Hello there, George," he said. "Didn't expect to see you back here for a while. Obviously you have less sense than I thought. What did you break this time?"

Dean shook his head tiredly. "Nothing. Thought I might ask if you needed any help."

Crowley raised a sceptical brow. "You _want_ to help? What happened to the claims of illegal slave-driving and so on and so forth?" Dean didn't answer, and Crowley didn't push it. "Well, I suppose the floor could do with a sweep. The broom's in the –"

"I know."

* * *

About halfway through scrubbing the sink down much more thoroughly than it needed, Dean vowed to himself that he would apologise to Castiel the next morning. Even he wasn't socially retarded enough to suffer this for his pride.

He would go and sit with him for breakfast, Dean planned. Nothing dramatic, just sit down, say hello and immediately out with it. He'd been an utter cock. He was sorry. Forgive him one more time?

Dean smiled. That's what he would do.

He never did.


	16. Chapter 16

A month went by. It wasn't a flash, to Dean's dismay, but rather a long string of failures. Dean failed to draw up the courage to even look at Castiel; Castiel failed to realise Dean was so sorry it hurt; Kevin failed (though not through lack of trying) to uncover any information of use to do with Balt's.

They were all just too _scared_.

And then, all of a sudden and so overdue it almost felt as if it'd happened before, Kevin was leaving. He'd informed Raphael that he wanted to make his own way and had met, to his never-ending surprise, minimal resistance. They'd almost encouraged him to go.

Kevin was too grateful to think about it much.

He'd told them at group a couple of days before. Charlie had looked upset, Chuck shaken. Dean and Castiel had been expecting it.

Charlie was crying now, at the end of their last group meeting. "Keep in touch," she gulped through her tears. "Pinkie promise."

Kevin smiled fondly at her. "Sure," he said.

Chuck gave him an awkward nod and said a subdued "thank you" to the kind person who had really listened to his few words.

"I actually got something for all of you," Kevin remembered, rummaging in the large pockets of his coat. "Here," he said, handing Chuck a simple black notepad with a propelling pencil clipped to it. "It's not much, I know, but..."

"It's amazing," Chuck said with no pretence in his voice. He gazed at the notebook as if it held the key to all the secrets of the world. Of course, for him, it probably did.

Kevin gave Charlie an old mobile phone, a Nokia. "It's a previous one of mine," he explained. "It can just about access the internet. I would have given you my laptop, but it'd be a bit hard to hide from the cleaners, wouldn't it?"

Charlie ignored all decorum and flung her arms around Kevin's neck. He hugged back awkwardly, feeling bashful.

"Castiel, I have that paperback you really enjoyed here." Kevin smiled at him and handed it to him. Castiel smiled back, naturally and without having to force the gratitude in his eyes.

"And Dean," Kevin turned to his most recent charge. "I wasn't sure what to get you, but here." He held out a gently curled fist. Dean opened his hand to receive the offering and Kevin unfurled his fingers. A silver ring fell into Dean's palm, warm from Kevin's hand. It was a wide band, the line running through its centre giving the impression that two rings had merged into one article.

Kevin made a self-deprecating face. "I know you're not really a jewellery kind of guy, and you can't wear it here anyway, but it was my mother's: it means a lot to me. I just hope you don't forget me."

Dean shook his head, squeezing his hand closed around the ring. "Never," he vowed.

Kevin nodded, blinking hard. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you," he murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Don't ever say that." Kevin had done all he could, far more than anyone else would have dreamt of doing. It wasn't his fault that it wasn't enough.

Kevin held his hand out then and after a brief moment of hesitation Dean took it, gripping hard. Kevin smiled grimly at him.

"Take my word for it," he said quietly, assertively. "I'm going to do much more tomorrow."

Dean grinned. The end was in sight.

Kevin shook his hand one last time and left the room, leaving his patients clutching their gifted memories and wondering if they could fill the hole Kevin left.

* * *

Lisa had another nosebleed at lunch that day, the first that Dean had borne witness to throughout. She didn't even notice at first, nearly spooning a mouthful of bloody soup past her lips. Luckily, Meg had notified her. They (Meg and Dean) had wanted to accompany Lisa down to the infirmary, though she'd rolled her eyes and told them, once again, that there was no need whatsoever. She needn't have bothered; the dull-eyed orderly vetoed all unnecessary companions. Left alone with Meg, Dean wondered what awkward topic she'd start this time. It was a talent of hers.

"So, I heard Kevin Tran left Balt's today," she started conversationally. "He's your group leader, right?"

"He was," Dean muttered, unwillingly slurping a spoonful of soup so he'd have an excuse for silence if she asked another question. He liked Meg, in a sense, but as a conversational partner she really didn't understand the workings of small talk.

Meg appraised him, leaning back in her chair and balancing her ankle on her knee. "How's Clarence coping with that?"

Dean's eyes glanced over without his permission. Castiel was watching, his eyes an impossible blue. Dean looked away hurriedly. "Dunno. Alright, I guess."

"He doesn't like change."

"None of us do."

She regarded him with bright, intelligent eyes that reminded him uncannily of a crow. "You two had a tiff."

Dean sighed inwardly.

Meg smiled sweetly. "You've hurt him, and that hurts you."

"What, you going for Psychiatrist of the Year?" Dean grumbled, not even half-teasing.

Meg narrowed her eyes. "Now you listen to me." She leaned forward predatorily, gripping the edge of the tabletop. "Clarence thinks you're worth something. He'll forgive you whatever you've done, given time and sufficient grovelling."

"I know, I know." Dean was in no mood for a 'relationship trouble' pep talk.

Meg's smile grew ever sweeter, cloying honey dripping from her words. "I know you know. And I'm telling you to stay the hell away from him before you really do him harm."

Dean gaped at her, utterly flabbergasted.

"You'll go back to him eventually," she continued, eyes narrow, smile still in place. "I can tell. But I swear to God, whether he's up there or not, if you do I will personally gut you and hang you with it."

Dean finally regained his words. "The hell business is it of yours?!" he spluttered.

"I don't want to see Clarence hurt," she replied simply. "Call it pathetic, I'll agree, but that's how it is. It's nothing personal, mind you. You just have an irrepressible tendency to destroy anyone who gets close to you." She pronounced the words precisely, with unnerving calm.

Dean shivered despite himself. "Shouldn't you be worried about Lisa? You know, the one who actually realises you exist?"

Meg's smile snapped into a hateful snarl. "Lisa can take care of herself. And she's in no danger of letting you get close enough to her heart to stab it. You have my warning," she announced, standing and looking down at him. "I won't be repeating it. See you at dinner."

She waggled her fingers at him as she stepped through the swinging doors. Dean stared as they slammed shut behind her, utterly nonplussed and feeling slightly sick.

* * *

Castiel was feeling slightly sick. He'd never reacted well to change, even on a minor scale, and this was...not a minor scale. Kevin was gone. There would be a new group leader. They would try and force him to talk. They would even possibly try to touch him.

Castiel breathed deeply and swallowed down the knot of tension in his chest. He looked over to the other side of the room, intending to watch the tempting sky for a bit, but was side-tracked by crimson red.

Lisa was bleeding again, all over the table. Dean looked concerned, Meg looked accustomed. The orderly looked mildly disgusted. She was led away.

Meg was talking to Dean now, and he wasn't responding as such: Castiel could practically hear the non-committal mumbling. Then, Meg seemed to touch on a live wire. Dean's spine straightened suddenly and his hands clenched tighter around the handle of his spoon. His eyes flicked to meet Castiel's own, then away. His muscles were tense.

_Are they talking about me?_

Meg was teasing him, Castiel realised, playing with him as a cat plays with a dying bird. He felt angry with her for it, even though he told himself he shouldn't. Dean was not his business; the man had made that quite clear.

_Look at you!_

Castiel's eyebrow twitched, and he snapped away from Meg and Dean's monologue, staring hard at the worn, scratched laminate of the table. His face felt suddenly hot, his eyes prickly and burning as if he was having a negative reaction to an allergen. Was he allergic to Dean?

Castiel shook the ridiculous thought away. Apart from being scientifically unsound, Castiel – _Cas_ – remembered all too well how he reacted to Dean. No itchy eyes, no unnaturally hot face. Just warmth. Warmth and trust.

_Who would want to be with you?_

The warmth hurt now it was gone. He'd dreamt the night before that Dean had come to him and apologised, near tears, for everything he'd done. Castiel had cried with him, and the tears had leaked out of his subconscious and onto his pillow. And then Dean had held him (and there had been no sickness no crawling just Dean only Dean), encasing him in the warmth of his arms and staying with him for the rest of the warm, comforting dream. It had been agonising to wake up in the morning with his sheets cold, back to square one – though of course he'd never really achieved anything after all. It hurt now to remember.

Castiel looked up as Meg rose and left the room. Dean's eyes were fixated on her. Castiel wondered if he would sleep with her at some point. He thought it likely. Her hair was almost the same shade as Lisa's.

* * *

Dean had to admit (to himself, it was only ever to himself these days) that he was slightly curious about who Kevin's replacement was going to be. He wondered if it was going to be one of the faceless orderlies. Qualifications didn't seem to present a problem in Balt's. By the day after Kevin's departure, they were all (except Castiel) taking bets. Dean's non-existent money was on Bartholomew, the only orderly whose name he could remember; Charlie thought they'd bring in someone new, while Chuck hopefully suggested that they might be left to their own devices. They were all disappointed.

"Hello, everyone," Naomi greeted from the head of the immaculately-placed pentagon of chairs. "I will be your temporary group leader until a permanent replacement is found."

Dean barely restrained his groan. Castiel turned pale. Chuck deflated. Charlie was displeased.

"Aren't you busy with all the work you already have?" Charlie asked Naomi, her voice so fake-sweet she may as well have screamed the words.

Naomi smiled and jotted down a few words without looking down. "I deemed this of more importance. Sit down."

They sat.

Needless to say, Group was long, tiresome and stressful that day, and all members sorely missed Kevin. Whereas he had usually dismissed the ridiculous suggested topics for the day, Naomi followed them as if repeating a script, even trying to coax answers out of Castiel.

"Castiel, did you have any pets before you were sent here?" she asked, though Dean was bloody sure she knew he couldn't remember.

Castiel stayed stubbornly silent.

"I asked you a question, Castiel. Castiel." Her face became more stony with every word.

Dean, sat right next to the man, could hear his breathing quicken, saw his hands clench in the corner of his eye. He decided he'd had enough.

"I used to want a dog when I was younger," he said loudly. Castiel's head span to stare at him incredulously. "My parents would never let me. Said it'd be too much responsibility." He was, of course, pulling this straight out of his ass, but if it distracted Naomi from her prey, it was worth the sweat.

Thankfully, Naomi focused her predator gaze solely on him. "Your parents wouldn't let you?" she repeated.

Dean shook his head. "My mom liked animals too, but my dad didn't so much. And they both agreed it would be too expensive. They got one later after all, though. Still have it now, as far as I'm aware."

Naomi smiled and Dean heard a horrible, horrible echo of a buzz.

"Dean," she said, "you don't have any parents."

Silence. Dean was drowning. His heartbeat washed through his eardrums in waves and the buzzing grew louder, it was _incessant_ –

"I had a cat!" Chuck volunteered suddenly, and the buzz retreated. "He was called Owl."

Naomi turned, more reluctantly this time. "Why would a cat be named after a bird?" she asked pleasantly.

"He never used to wake up during the day, but as soon as the sun set, he'd be up and hunting mice..."

They were all exhausted by the end of the hour.

"Holy shit," Charlie exclaimed as they entered the rec room. "I don't reckon I can stand for more than a day of that."

"Seconded," Dean said emphatically. The buzz was still in his ears, although faint. It made him so scared he had to concentrate hard to stop his hands shaking. He wanted to talk to Castiel. Lisa. He wanted to talk to Lisa.

He started to make a bee-line towards her where she sat across the room, chatting with Meg and Benny, but Charlie caught his arm. "C'mon, Dean," she moaned, tugging at his wrist. "You've been draped all over her for weeks now. I wanna play Monopoly!"

"Can't you play without me?"

"Boring. C'mon, let's play a group game!" She hailed Chuck before he stepped out of the room and, surprisingly, he agreed.

"Where's Castiel gone?" Charlie asked, rubber-necking around.

Dean shook his head. "Oh, be realistic, he's not gonna want to play!"

Charlie fixed him with a look. "How would you know? You only met him a couple of months ago."

Dean swallowed and kept quiet.

Charlie went off to find the last member of their group and came back with him a minute later, looking triumphant.

"He says he'll play!" she declared.

Dean was pretty sure he hadn't said anything, but he wasn't about to argue.

They chose their pieces (or 'safe' scraps of paper), Dean the blue, as was his habit. Castiel chose the green. As Charlie was youngest, she rolled first, immediately bagging a double four. Whooping, she moved her piece. Dean (the next youngest) swore as he landed on Community Tax.

And so the game went on, with a recess for dinner, until half-past nine that night. Castiel won.

* * *

A week passed. Unfortunately for Dean and his group members, it didn't look as if Naomi was going to be replaced any time soon. She was slowly worming her way into each of their subconsciouses, discovering all their little buttons that she could push for a reaction. Dean was used to it. The others were not.

For Charlie, the button was called Patronisation.

"How do these group talks even help our mental state?" she asked one day, not even disguising her disdain.

Naomi smiled gently in her direction. "They help you open your minds and allow doctors to see the best form of treatment."

Charlie nodded slowly. "I suppose that's why treatment's been working so well, then." She smirked.

Naomi's face didn't slip. "It's rather complicated; I wouldn't expect you to understand," she enunciated.

Charlie seethed.

Chuck's button was Pressure.

"Mr Shurley, did you think of your Five Weekly Goals?"

"Uh..."

"That's disappointing, Mr Shurley. I expect you to have at least eight tomorrow, or consequences will have to be implemented."

Chuck sweated.

Castiel's button was simply Conversation.

"Castiel, how are you feeling today?"

"Castiel, do you have anything to add to the conversation?"

"Castiel, what are your thoughts?"

It was never-ending. Castiel's button, though, seemed to be unyielding. He would stay quiet and outwardly calm, though Dean could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. He wondered why Castiel had decided to stay mute if it caused him so much stress, but the answer was obvious: anything they said could and would be used against them. Castiel was taking no risks. Dean admired him for that.

Predictably, Naomi had a bit more trouble pushing Dean's buttons. Throughout his stay at Balt's, Dean had learned how to close off to the woman, to not get angry, irritated or upset. The only thing that ever got a rise out of him was his Past. Curiously, Naomi didn't use that to her advantage, though she managed to cook up numerous other ways to set Dean's teeth grinding. He'd thought the time she'd insisted on accompanying him to Group after their Wednesday talk would be the worst. He'd been wrong.

"Castiel? Castiel?" A dramatic sigh. "Mr Winchester, would you mind relaying the question?"

Four pairs of incredulous eyes stared at her.

"...I'm sorry?" Dean said slowly.

"You are the sole person to whom Castiel will talk, therefore I am requesting that you relay my question to him."

Dean squinted at her. There was no way she could believe what she was saying. Her smirk proved him right.

He inhaled deeply. "No," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"If Castiel doesn't wanna talk, he's not going to talk. Maybe you should stop asking him questions like he's a toddler."

For the first time since he'd met her, Naomi looked surprised. "Are you disobeying me, Mr Winchester?" Her voice was open, but no longer even faux-friendly.

There was no going back now, Dean reminded himself. "Yeah. I am."

"Group dismissed."

"I'll talk." Castiel's voice was a desperate whisper.

"No you fucking won't," Dean told him.

"Dean –"

"No, you fucking won't."

Naomi began to look fed up. "Mr Winchester, may I remind you that profanity is forbidden in this building? Group dis _missed_." Her tone was very final.

Dean rolled his eyes and stood to leave.

"Not you, Mr Winchester."

Slowly, Dean sat back down and waited as the other members of his group filed out, all looking decidedly anxious. Dean hoped his own expression was neutral, at least.

As the door shut, Naomi looked him directly in the eyes, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not break the contact. The buzz grew in his ears again.

"Mr Winchester, I do not know what's got into you today. You have been disobedient, disrespectful and rude. We do not stand for such behaviour at Balt's."

"I know," Dean said stoically.

"Then why did you behave as such? Were you deliberately pushing boundaries?"

Dean stayed silent, eyes still helplessly glued to Naomi's.

They glinted silver. "I think we need to have a talk, Mr Winchester."

* * *

Castiel shuffled his feet nervously, eyes glued to the wooden door closed on Dean and Naomi. He was not comfortable. He'd told himself that Dean did not mean much to him: he was just another person in what was hopefully going to be a reasonably long life. And besides, hadn't Dean shown him exactly how much Castiel meant to him?

Castiel scowled the thoughts out of his head. Yes. Dean had shown him. He'd shown him as he'd protected Castiel when it really mattered, though he had no real reason to. And now he was going to pay for it.

Castiel refused to leave. He had to help somehow.

"C'mon, man, there's nothing we can do." Charlie was still trying to coax him away from the door, concern and sympathy showing unguarded on her face. "We'll just make it worse, you know that."

Castiel did know that, he really did. His brain just wasn't processing it.

Charlie huffed, and Chuck coughed anxiously as they heard chairs being scraped back in Room 79.

"Castiel, we need to _move_ ," he said emphatically.

"Do you want me to grab you? Because I'm not above that," Charlie added, deadly serious.

She was not.

The three of them burst into Crowley's surgery in a sweating, wild-eyed explosion. Crowley nearly inhaled his cigarette.

"What in the –?" he choked. "You lot aren't supposed to come in without –"

"He's having a panic attack," Charlie stated calmly, gesturing with her free hand to Castiel, who looked ready to faint.

Crowley looked as if he was about to have an aneurysm. " _Why are you touching him, then_?" he spluttered.

"He would get away from the fucking door!" Charlie exclaimed exasperatedly. She deposited Castiel onto a chair and apologised briskly to both him and Crowley before sweeping out of the room with a frazzled-looking Chuck in tow.

Crowley blinked as she stuck her head back around the corner and added, "We were never here."

A small silence, punctuated only by Castiel's stuttered breathing.

"You know what? I don't even want to know," Crowley muttered quietly, standing to get the man a glass of water.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean was surprised that he had only been sentenced to three days in isolation for his "downright disobedience and cheek". It wasn't that bad, either. A bit boring, but he supposed that was the point.

He'd been placed in a room unremarkably similar to his own: one bed, one desk, one safety lamp, one wardrobe, one set of shelves, one bathroom. The only difference was that it did not have a window, and that it was completely soundless. He couldn't hear Andy singing tunelessly in the shower, and he couldn't hear the creak of mattress springs as Castiel lay down with only a wall separating their heads.

The silence didn't bother Dean in the slightest. If anything, it was a blessing, because the longer he spent in that noiseless room, the quieter the buzzing in his head became. For how quickly it had flared up while Naomi had lectured at him, it passed very slowly. For the first few hours he couldn't even hear himself breathe as he'd cradled his ears and willed himself not to pass out. Then it had retreated slightly, and he had been able to sit up and eat some of the simple supper Ellen (he assumed) had pushed through the now-closed hatch in the door. Then he had actually passed out, from exhaustion rather than panic, and though he'd had a headache when he'd woken up, the buzz had all but disappeared.

Now, he heaved himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. He wasn't completely certain what time it was, but he supposed breakfast couldn't be too long coming. He decided a shower would pass the time.

* * *

Even knowing Dean was only in isolation, Castiel couldn't calm himself down. Apparently, after taking such pains not to care about anyone more than basically necessary, his heart had invested everything it had in Dean Winchester and would not be reasoned with.

For the first time in his life, Castiel discovered that people helped. Alone, he thought too much about Dean, but with Charlie nattering away in his ear, Mr Fizzles flirting with him like there was no tomorrow (ignoring Garth's reprimands all the while) and Chuck sitting as a quiet, rare presence beside him, he could half-forget, and the knot in his belly would loosen slightly.

Life was too short to play toddlers, Castiel decided, and as soon as Dean was released from isolation, Castiel would tell him all was forgiven. They needed each other too much for this to continue.

Time passed slowly for both Dean and Castiel during the three days of isolation. For Dean, whose only indication of time was three meals shoved through his door a day, the minutes seemed to stretch for aeons. For Castiel, when he wasn't being coerced into playing Snap (which he always lost, for reasons obvious), the clock hands didn't seem to move at all. But eventually, finally, the day came. Dean was woken by the sound of a key in the lock and sat up in surprise as Raphael Balt himself walked inside. He'd barely seen the man since his first day, and he was not happy to see him now.

"How are you feeling, Mr Winchester?" Raphael asked, not sounding as if he cared in the slightest.

Dean blinked. "Alright, I guess. Am I allowed out now?"

"I will escort you to the patient wing."

Dean was just glad, creepy as Raphael was, that it wasn't Naomi.

They walked in intensely awkward silence to the door of the canteen, where Raphael turned to him once more.

"I was informed of your misdemeanour, Mr Winchester, and would like to inform you personally that such behaviour will not be tolerated again," he informed Dean authoritatively.

Dean smarted at the injustice of it. "She was forcing Castiel to do something that made him uncomfortable!" he cried before he thought better of it.

Raphael raised an eyebrow. "By 'she', I suppose your are referring to Dr Naomi Balt."

Dean nodded slightly sheepishly.

"Dr Balt is highly experienced and acclaimed in her area of expertise, Mr Winchester. If she believes certain forms of treatment will be beneficial to a patient's health, she is very probably absolutely correct. And though you may believe her methods to be ill-advised – and you are entitled to that opinion – you have no right to indulge in profanity or directly disobey an order from a doctor. Is that clear?"

"The doctors aren't my bosses! I can do what I like here, this isn't school!"

Raphael smiled a very cold smile indeed. "While I cannot deny that you are indeed free to make your own decisions, Mr Winchester, I strongly suggest that you make the ones we recommend. If you do otherwise a second time, the consequences may be...unpleasant." With that, he turned on his heel and paced away.

Dean couldn't believe his ears. He had been outright threatened by the head of the establishment.

 _They can't do that. This is bullshit!_ Even as he thought the words, he realised their falsity. Between these walls, the staff of Balt's could do whatever they liked, and anyone who believed otherwise was a fool.

Dean was no fool.

Sighing deeply, he pushed the door of the canteen open and stepped through. He was met by a brief lull in conversation, then several joyous shouts.

"You're alive!" Charlie cried melodramatically as she flung herself into his arms.

Dean laughed, and it only sounded slightly forced. "Stop fucking around," he told her good-naturedly. She stuck her tongue out in reply, before hugging him even harder.

Chuck smiled at him from the table he shared with a beaming Garth and a somehow emotional-looking Mr Fizzles.

Dean felt a hand on his back and guessed from how his skin crawled at the contact that it was Andy. He pulled away from Charlie's death-grip to look. It was indeed Andy.

"Glad to see you back, dude!" he enthused, grinning too widely for it to be real. Dean nodded once at him, not wanting to encourage conversation, glad as he was to have the option again.

He looked around for Lisa, wondering if she was at breakfast yet, and found her in the corner of the room with a slightly grouchy Meg. She smiled briefly at him and turned back to her friend. Dean scowled and tried not to acknowledge the sting.

Dean heard the door behind him open before he was deafened by Charlie yelling "Hey, Castiel! Look who's back!" _right_ in his ear.

Grimacing in anticipation of what was about to come, Dean turned slowly to face the man he had so cruelly hurt all those weeks ago. Castiel was smiling beatifically, and his eyes were startling, electric blue pools of relief.

Dean's words died on his tongue. He swallowed their corpses with difficulty. "Cas, I –" he began.

"I forgive you," Castiel interrupted, eyes still burning with ecstatic relief.

Charlie had grabbed Andy and was currently pulling him away from the pair, elbowing him when he began to protest. She looked on in glee as Dean took an unsure half-step forward, then all of a sudden lurched forward and grabbed the other man in a heartfelt embrace, arms entwined around his neck and shoulders.

Dean was almost as stunned as Castiel when he felt the hard torso pressing against his through their clothes. His body had taken him by surprise, and his brain was now belatedly reminding him that Castiel really did _not_ like bodily contact, let alone that of the full-frontal variety. He wanted to let go and back away as fast as possible, praying that he had not foolishly done even more damage, but as he began to pull away he was astonished by Castiel's arms, which immediately wrapped around his back and held him determinedly in place.

"Cas?" he asked, his voice weak with surprise.

"Please." The whisper was harsh and desperate, muffled by the fabric of Dean's shoulder. Dean panickily realised the man might have even been crying.

 _I'm such a fucking idiot_.

Thankfully, though, Castiel was not crying, a fact revealed when they finally pulled apart after an orderly irritably declared "enough was enough".

Looking at Castiel's too-soft face, Dean realised with a creeping sense of dread, _I really fucking missed this guy._

He was in too deep to back out now.

They ate breakfast together, Castiel and Dean, for the first time in far too long. Lisa and Meg were far away, and yet Dean could still feel Meg's eyes boring into the back of his head.

_You just have an irrepressible tendency to destroy anyone who gets close to you._

_Well_ , Dean thought, _fuck her_.

He smiled at Castiel across the table. "It's good to see you again, man. Properly, I mean."

Castiel nodded, agreeing. "I should probably be less dependant on your presence than I am, but what is done is done, as they say."

Dean chuckled. Castiel was as frank as ever. "Tell me about it. So, what's been going on while I've been locked up?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. I was introduced to an enormous array of card and board games."

Dean grinned. "Charlie?"

Castiel nodded.

A snigger. "She really does love her Go Fish."

"Indeed."

A comfortable silence ensued, during which Dean thoroughly enjoyed his bacon (which he hadn't seen hide nor hair of in three days) and Castiel watched him with a smile on his face. Dean glanced up and caught his eyes, giving a quick smile of his own before it faltered and he glanced back down.

A crease appeared between Castiel's eyebrows. "Is everything alright?" he enquired carefully. "Did anything happen during your isolation?"

Dean shook his head and wearily put down his fork. "Nah, nothing's happened. Sorry to be a downer."

"You are yourself, and I become concerned when you look like that," Castiel told him simply. "What's wrong?"

Dean swallowed a piece of bacon that seemed stuck in his throat. "I...keep remembering last time."

"Last time?"

"Last time we talked."

"Oh. I see."

Dean closed his eyes. "I really hurt you, didn't I?"

Castiel was silent.

"I didn't mean any of it, I swear," Dean promised him earnestly. "I just –"

"Couldn't control yourself," Castiel finished for him. "I know."

"No, that doesn't excuse it." Dean rubbed his forehead violently. "I don't want to excuse it. I was a dick, and you were just trying to help."

"I made you angry," Castiel pointed out.

Dean flung his hands in the air, and Castiel flinched back. He placed them slowly back on the table and quietly stated, "That doesn't mean I'm allowed to just yell at you and hurt you. I just can't control myself sometimes, the anger just...it's like I'm two people, and the real me's standing by and watching and knowing what's coming out of my mouth is terrible, but I _can't stop it_." He paused to take a deep breath and bury his face in his hands.

Castiel barely hesitated before reaching over the table and taking one of Dean's hands in his own, despite the strange look that it earned him.

"I already told you," he said softly, fiddling with Dean's fingers as he talked. "I forgive you. I was hurt, yes, and angry. And proud. I was very proud, Dean, and I thought that not deigning to talk to you would hurt you at least somewhat. And when I was wrong, it made me even angrier, because why should you not be suffering as much as I?"

Dean swallowed. "I'm sorry," he said, a bit thickly.

Castiel smiled at him and laced their fingers together. "I accept your apology. We were both, as you put it, dicks. Myself for trying to push you away from Lisa, and you for saying what you said."

"On that note, why did you tell me to keep away from Lisa?" Dean asked too casually, and felt Castiel's hand stiffen in his grasp. "I won't get angry again. Or, at least, I'll try not to. But I just want to know why...I think it might help," he ventured.

Castiel sighed. "It concerns me, how close you are with her," he admitted quietly, staring sheepishly at his empty plate.

Dean was confused. "I don't understand."

Licking his lips, Castiel continued. "It's very dangerous to have anything approaching a romantic partner in this establishment, Dean."

Dean scoffed. "It's not romantic, trust me. She made that very clear."

Castiel looked at him knowingly. "And you feel absolutely nothing for her?"

Dean stayed silent.

"It doesn't matter to me what she feels for you Dean," Castiel insisted, "it's what _you_ feel for _her._ She can be used against you in any number of ways, and that's _dangerous_."

"Well, what about you, then?" Dean snapped. Castiel's face froze, and Dean forced himself to calm down. "Aren't you as much of a risk as Lisa, if we're going for emotional attachment?"

"We are a liability to each other," Castiel admitted. "I will be understanding if you wish to end our relations."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. "I can't spend my life here swathed in bubble wrap. I need Lisa, and I need you." He watched Castiel's throat as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down slightly. "Just for slightly different things," he quipped with a wink.

Castiel smiled a small smile. "I'm glad."

Dean squeezed his hand. "Hey, I'm always going to need you to be the other half of my gay rumours, Cas. That ain't gonna change."

He released Castiel's hand and recommenced the consumption of his bacon to distract himself from the desperate need to sweep the other man into a second hug.

For the first time since his mistake with Castiel, he felt content.


	18. Chapter 18

"C'mon, dude, at least answer me."

Dean had been knocking on Castiel's door for a full minute now. There was no way he hadn't heard him; the shower wasn't running, and Dean could hear him rustling around.

"Are you pissed at me or something?" Dean asked.

"Yes," came the grouchy answer.

Dean's brow furrowed as he tried to recall any possible instance when he could have offended his friend. Giving up, he called in exasperation, "Why?"

Castiel's voice was muffled. "Because you woke me up."

Rolling his eyes, Dean pushed the door open. Castiel was lying under the duvet, face buried in the pillow. He looked very comfortable.

Dean took no mercy. "Up and at 'em, sunshine, it's half eight already. Breakfast'll be over soon."

"It's winter," Castiel said through his pillow.

Dean nodded once. "Yes. Indeed it is. Now get up."

"It's darker in winter. And cold."

"Would you rather dark and cold or dark, cold and hungry?"

Castiel paused. "Hunger is not so bad," he reasoned, rolling to face the wall.

Having had about enough, Dean marched over and flung the duvet back. Castiel, clad only in underwear, curled immediately into a tight ball against the cold air, face furious and hands grabbing at the blanket now out of his reach.

"Get up," Dean told him, "Or I swear to God I will drag you out of bed and into the shower myself. And I won't even let it warm up first."

Castiel regarded him darkly. "I am haphephobic," he said righteously.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Didn't seem to be troubling you yesterday."

"It relents when it's you."

"Well then, there's nothing to stop me tearing off your clothes and shoving you naked under a freezing shower, is there?" Dean said cheerily. "Not that we have time for a shower," he amended. "We only have fifteen minutes for breakfast as it is."

Castiel sighed, finally unfurling and sitting up on the mattress. He took the scrubs Dean handed to him and looked at him pointedly.

"Are you going to leave?" he asked.

"You're putting clothes _on_ , why would I leave?"

"You don't expect me to wear the same underwear two days in a row, do you?"

Dean saw reason and left, though he only hovered outside the door for thirty seconds before he banged on the door and demanded to know what the hell Castiel was doing that was taking him so long. He opened the door to find the other man back in bed, head buried under his pillow.

"Fuck this," he groused, marching out again and slamming the door. He'd just have to eat without him.

"Here's trouble," Meg announced sardonically as Dean plonked his plate loudly down next to Lisa's.

Lisa looked uncomfortable. "Uh, Dean...? I'm sorry, but would you mind sitting somewhere else?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "Sorry?"

"It's just..." Lisa licked her lips and glanced over the table at Meg. "Meg, would you mind going to talk to Benny for a bit or something?"

"Hell yeah I would, I wanna watch this!"

"Meg."

"Geez, fine..." Meg got up and sauntered over the room.

Dean was still staring at Lisa. "Are you seriously breaking up with me like we're in highschool? We aren't even in a relationship!" It twinged a bit to say it, but it was true, and he'd been so stupid to get even slightly attached. This was just karma proving a point.

"I'm not breaking off our...arrangement," Lisa said slightly awkwardly. "I'm just saying that maybe we shouldn't keep on...publicising it so much."

Dean suddenly thought of Castiel. His friend had been right – he and Lisa had been too public about their relationship. Apparently Dean was the only one stupid enough not to care.

"I'm just saying: maybe you should sit with Charlie and the rest from now on. You don't hang around with them as much anymore, don't you miss them?"

"I see Charlie everyday in Group."

"Yeah, with Naomi breathing down your neck. Real nice atmosphere for chat there." Seeing Dean's expression, Lisa stopped her teasing and let her face soften a bit. "Dean, I'm sorry, really. But I did tell you not to get attached. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I'm worried about my own safety now. You're just getting into too much trouble for me to risk an in-your-face advertisement of 'hey, this guy means something to me, eat your hearts out'."

Dean scowled at the table. "I'm not attached," he mumbled.

Lisa rolled her eyes heavenwards. "Oh come on, it's not a weakness! You're not used to this atmosphere yet, you don't get the dog-eat-dog principal. Meg's pretty much the biggest risk I can take here. And she keeps her head down. You don't."

"You expect me to just take their shit?" Dean said stiffly.

Lisa sighed. "I don't expect you to do anything at all. I just don't want to get too mixed up in it."

Dean pursed his lips. "I get it. No biggie." He got up to leave.

"Hey, wait!" She pulled him back down. "I'm not saying we can't talk at all," she said more quietly. "Or...do other stuff. I'm just saying we have to be subtle. Okay?"

"Okay." It wasn't. Dean was kicking himself for feeling anything for Lisa in the first place. Meg had been talking shit, saying he was the one to stab people in the heart. Speaking of Meg, Dean would bet his bacon she had a hand in this somewhere.

Dean was distracted from his bitter musings when a figure suddenly appeared next to their table.

"Ms Braeden?" Raziel, the doctor hired to replace Alfie after he "resigned due to personal matters", was standing at their table. "I have someone to introduce to you." He stepped aside, revealing the person previously hidden behind him.

Dean blinked.

"This is Kevin Tran."

A shallow inhalation.

"He is new to Balt's and has been assigned to our group."

A slight gagging noise, too quiet to hear.

"I know you will help him settle in to the best of your ability."

Breathing quickened.

"He will be staying in Room 127. I would appreciate if you could show him where that is."

Eyesight blurred.

"Thank you, Ms Braeden. Until three o'clock."

Heart pumped as if to burst.

"Hey there, your name's Kevin then?" Lisa said, perfectly cheerful.

Dean gaped at her.

Kevin (and it really was him Christ it was him how could it be him) shuffled around a bit on his feet, looking nervous. "Uh, yeah," he muttered, his facial muscles twitching slightly. "Nice to, uh, meet you." He chewed on his lip and stared hard at the floor.

Lisa smiled at him in a friendly manner. "I'm Lisa. Why don't you sit down? Have you had breakfast already?"

Kevin nodded and perched on the seat Meg had vacated, eyes ever roaming.

"This is Dean," said Lisa, gesturing to him and shooting him a pointed look when he desperately (and vainly) tried to communicate everything through facial expressions. "Don't worry about him, he's not usually this freaky." Her eyes were more annoyed than worried. She thought he was screwing around. She really, genuinely had no idea.

Dean could only bite his tongue and try desperately not to scream. The puddle of blood that pooled in his mouth made him feel sick.

"Who's this?" Meg was back, obviously finished with her conversation with Benny. She looked at Kevin with curiosity in her eyes. Of shock, alarm or recognition there was not a trace.

"This is Kevin, he's a new addition to my group," Lisa said, directing a comforting smile at Kevin as he shifted nervously when Meg sat down next to him. "This is Meg, Kevin, my best friend. She's not in our group, but her room's pretty close to yours."

Meg was frowning at Dean. "What's got into you?" she asked suspiciously.

Dean's face was ashen and slick with cold sweat. He swallowed his mouthful of blood. "Not feeling well," he said, lurching upright and tottering out of the room.

He threw up the minute he reached the bathroom, all over the tiled floor.

Staggering to the toilet, he retched again, the remainder of his supper the night before splashing into the bowl. He gasped a few seconds before vomiting a third time.

Over the pounding of his head, his thoughts were racing, swirling. He could focus on only one.

 _I've finally lost it_.

Kevin was back.

(but it wasn't really Kevin. his eyes were wrong.)

No one remembered apart from himself. Was he remembering? Or was his mind playing tricks on him, because there was no possible way this could be happening. Maybe it was a dream, and he would wake up, covered in sweat and tangled in the sheets, but sane and able to trust himself.

He released a low moan, resting his forehead against the cool seat of the toilet and willing himself to wake up.

He heard his door open. "Dean? I heard you running. Is everything alright?"

The noise brought on another wave of nausea, and Dean retched violently once more, bile coming out now. He couldn't breathe, his ears were ringing, and his face was being splashed with drops of unspeakable liquid.

"Dean!" Castiel voice sounded panicky now, through the rushing in Dean's ears, and as he rested his head on the toilet again, he felt his friend's hand on his back, saw his frightened face in his swimming peripheral vision. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean couldn't speak at first, Castiel's genuine concern making a lump rise in his throat, but eventually he managed it.

"I've gone insane," he said, his voice wavering.

"No you haven't, Dean," Castiel insisted. "What happened?" he asked again.

Dean swallowed, balking as a piece of half-digested food slipped back down his throat. "I saw Kevin," he gasped out.

Castiel froze, and Dean could see through his aching eyes that he was suddenly unsure how to proceed, because it was obvious now, wasn't it? Dean was crazy, in all senses of the word.

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked him carefully, smoothing a hand through Dean's sweaty hair. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Of course I'm not!" Dean cried, embarrassing tears sliding down his cheeks. "I'm not sure at all! I've gone mad!"

Castiel was silent for a moment longer, still stroking Dean's hair, before he stood up decisively. "I'm going to fetch Crowley," he announced.

Dean tried to grab at him, to stop him from leaving, but Castiel was already out of the door and Dean felt too nauseous to go after him.

* * *

Castiel strode out of Dean's room purposefully. He could help Dean this time, and he would do all in his power to do so.

Castiel felt mournful as he thought of his only friend. He didn't know what was plaguing the man; his illness just seemed to become more and more serious. When Kevin had said that he could not see a reason why Dean should be in a destination as final as Balt's, Castiel had agreed with him; apart from rare lapses, Dean seemed perfectly capable of rehabilitation. Or he _had_ seemed, at least. Castiel chewed his lip. Hallucinations were serious, and he knew now that he had been foolish to not tell anyone about Dean's memory loss, or the seizure, or the uncontrollable outbursts of temper. They couldn't manage it alone, Castiel realised now, and he knew Crowley would help, if unwillingly.

What Castiel didn't understand was why Dean would hallucinate Kevin. Surely it would make much more sense if it was an important figure from his past?

Castiel sighed deeply. The problem with insanity was that it rarely made sense.

He was half-way to the infirmary when he remembered that Crowley enjoyed a late breakfast. He tutted, turned, and headed for the canteen instead.

When he pushed the doors open, he located Crowley immediately. He was passing tissues to Lisa, who was dripping blood from her nose again. It had formed a small puddle on the tabletop before the tissue had got there, it appeared, and Castiel felt his stomach turn slightly.

Then he remembered why he was there and hurried up to Crowley.

"Dean needs help," he muttered urgently as he reached the table. Crowley looked up at him in astonishment, as did Lisa.

"Oh, are you talking to me now?" Crowley asked sarcastically. "What an honour, it really is."

"Stop fooling around," Castiel growled. "Dean is –" his voice choked off as he glanced at the person who was sitting opposite Lisa, regarding the pool of blood in alarm. Kevin's eyes flicked up to meet Castiel's, and they were horrifyingly empty.

Crowley was looking at him in expectation and concealed worry. "Dean is what?" he prompted.

Still staring at Kevin, Castiel shook his head. "Nothing. I've made a mistake."

He turned on his heel and raced out of the room.

Charlie stopped him as he sprinted through the rec room. "Hey, Castiel, where are you going? What's up?" She looked concerned and Castiel worried at his lip, deliberating over her trustworthiness.

Making a decision, he said (much to Charlie's surprise), "There's a new patient." That was good: it gave nothing away but opened a huge number of doors through which information could come to him.

Charlie gave him all the information he need in a few words. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot! What did they say his name was? Kyle? Ken...?"

"Kevin?" Castiel suggested hesitantly.

Charlie nodded her head vigorously. " _That_ was it," she said, grinning. "Is that why you're in such a hurry?" she asked.

Castiel shook his head. "Dean is...ill," he said. It wasn't wholly a lie.

Charlie's face became worried. "My God, is it bad? I'll go fetch Crowley!" She started off in the direction of the canteen.

Castiel stepped deftly in front of her. She thankfully stopped before she crashed into him. "No need," he muttered. "I've already gone."

Charlie's concern did not fade. "Then where is he?"

"He's coming. Lisa had a nosebleed."

Charlie sighed. "Oh, not again. I'm amazed she has any blood left in her body."

Castiel nodded impatiently, stepping around but halting suddenly as he was struck with realisation. "Charlie," he said urgently. The girl turned to face him, surprised. He continued, voice lowered. "Do you remember your mobile telephone?" Good: vague.

Charlie blinked and shutters slammed down over her eyes. She suddenly looked suspicious. "How do you know about that?" she asked warily.

Castiel floundered. "Uh...Chuck told me," he spluttered, stabbing in the dark.

He'd hit the mark. Charlie rolled her eyes. "That idiot, he never could resist showing off his new things. I should have never nicked that notebook for him as well."

Castiel grabbed at the sentence. "You stole it?"

"Yup, at the same time I got the phone. The orderly had the notebook in his pocket as well, so I thought it was worth it. Don't tell anyone, though." A dangerous look flashed in her eyes. "If I get sent into isolation, I'm taking you with me."

Castiel nodded, not doubting her. He turned and hurried back to Dean's room.

"Dean!" he gasped as he raced into the bathroom, only just remembering to jump over the large puddle of vomit. "Dean! You're not crazy!"

Dean looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Okay. I'll admit, I'm curious. What's your reasoning this time?" His eyes were almost as dead as Kevin's, and this scared Castiel. It scared him a lot.

"Dean, you weren't hallucinating. I don't know how, but Kevin's here. And he's not all Kevin." he swallowed thickly, desperately trying to keep calm. His fingers were trembling.

Dean looked slowly up at him, as if his eyes weighed a tonne each. "Are you lying to me?" he asked wearily.

Castiel looked him dead in the eye. "I will never lie to you," he vowed.

Dean took a deep breath. "I don't understand," he stated.

Running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his haunches, Castiel admitted, "Neither do I. I do not understand how they removed Kevin's memories and, from the looks of things, his sanity. I do not understand why Crowley, Lisa and Meg don't seem to recognise him. I don't understand why Charlie and Chuck don't remember, despite their presents. What I do understand is that this is a very, very bad situation."

Dean blinked slowly. "Why?" he said, sounding mildly stupid.

"Because there is no reason why they would leave our memories intact," Castiel told him, "apart from if it didn't matter."

"Why wouldn't it matter?"

"If we weren't going to be around long enough to do anything about it."

Castiel watched and stroked his friend's back as Dean retched into the toilet once more.

* * *

Once Dean's sickness had passed, Castiel had helped him clean up his bathroom, ignoring Crowley's knocks on the door of Room 107 and his calls asking if everything was alright. They were alone, and they knew it. They knew it had to stay that way.

They agreed on business as usual. It seemed it was their only plan of action: don't let them know how much you know, and don't let them know how much it affects you. Dean was sick of it, and for the best, because it didn't seem as if the staff were willing to play along this time.

After lunch, Dean stepped into Naomi's office as usual and sat down in his chair in front of her desk. She smiled at him, as a snake would if it were capable.

"I think it's time we stopped waltzing circles around each other, don't you, Mr Winchester?"

A muscle twitched in Dean's jaw. "I think that's about right," he said coolly.

"Do you know why we could not let Junior Doctor Tran go?" Naomi got straight to the point, smile still in place.

"Because he knew you murdered Alfie." Dean's voice held no trace of doubt.

Naomi leaned back into her chair. "Oh, Samandriel was hardly our concern in that matter, let me assure you Mr Winchester," Naomi said, smile growing wider. Her eyes never left his. "Our concern with Junior Doctor Tran was his involvement with you. None of my siblings are on any human records. Or, at least, not the ones that would be consulted in regard to the inspection of a psychiatric hospital."

Dean took a deep breath. "Human records?"

"Records made by humans, Mr Winchester."

Dean ignored the jibe. "You're not human, then?"

"None of us are. We Balts are something quite other." Naomi looked proud of the fact.

Dean nodded. He wanted to be surprised, but he couldn't. "Why Kevin?" he asked. "He did nothing to you."

"On the contrary. Junior Doctor Tran was breaking rules from the moment he stepped inside these walls. Disobedience in any form is not taken lightly by my people," Naomi said.

"But does that really warrant wiping his memories?" Dean was fighting to keep his voice calm and, thankfully, winning.

Naomi smirked sadistically. "Oh, I wouldn't call it that. Burning his mind out is rather more accurate."

Dean ground his teeth together. "Why did you do it?" he growled through them.

"We wanted to see what would happen. We wanted to see how you would react." Naomi's eyes were bright and sharp, like pieces of slate polished to a cruel shine. "And, of course, he was a liability. Rumours of any kind are bad news, even ones that are officially discredited. Junior Doctor Tran had to be silenced."

"And the others?"

Naomi knew what he was referring to. "The others were a necessity to avoid total pandemonium within the establishment. A caught rabbit is perfectly calm until it realises it's in a trap," she reasoned calmly.

Flexing his fingers, Dean asked, "And me and Cas?"

"As I said: we wished to see how you reacted. Castiel has his own part to play in that. The support string to the puppet, if you will. While we do like to play, Mr Winchester, we have no wish to completely break you. At least, not until you become boring."

Dean ignored the chill creeping through his bones. "Why me?" he asked quietly. "Why are you so interested in me?"

There was a relaxed (on Naomi's part) pause as she pondered the question. "I suppose one could say that you are an experiment, Mr Winchester," she said finally.

"What kind of experiment?"

"An experiment on the human mind to see what it will do when all memories are erased."

Dean inhaled slowly, feeling his heartbeat pick up. "So it was you."

A smile. "Yes, Mr Winchester. It was us."

"Do all the staff know?"

"All of my siblings."

"Alfie?"

"Yes, Samandriel knew."

Dean tried not to feel betrayed. "And so why are you telling me this now? Bored already?"

"On the contrary, we wish to continue the experiment. Unfortunately, it appears your mind is not capable of functioning through the veils we have placed over it. As demonstrated by the vomiting, seizures and erratic outbursts of temper," Naomi clarified. "Nevertheless, the main aim of the experiment was successful."

"How do you mean?"

"We wanted to see whether we could cure insanity simply by removing the source. And it seems to have worked. While not in completely full physical or mental health, we believe you would be pronounced passably sane by any medical practitioner."

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. "And what happens if you give me my memories back?" he asked hesitantly.

Naomi's eyes glinted predatorily. "That we will discover shortly, Mr Winchester."

She stood. Dean's heart began to race, and he glanced involuntarily for a way out.

"There is no need to panic, Mr Winchester," Naomi said calmly, stepping towards him. "This will only seem to hurt. Your physical body will be utterly unharmed."

She touched his forehead, and Dean's world turned white with pain. The memories came flooding in.


	19. Chapter 19

" _Sammy! What in God's name do you think you're doing in a place like this?"_

" _Mm – Deean? 'S good day, huh?"_

" _Sam? Are you fucking high?!"_

" _Noo..."_

" _Look at me –_ look at me _, dammit...holy shit, Sam, what the hell did you even take?"_

" _Mmunno. Feelss good, though..."_

" _Sam! Sam, dammit stay awake! I'm gonna get you home. Sammy!"_

* * *

" _Who gave you that shit?"_

" _God, Dean, do we have to do this now? I feel awful."_

" _Hell yeah, we're doing this now. What were you thinking, Sam? That shit's dangerous! I can't believe you would do something as fucking stupid as injecting smack!"_

" _What's it to you, anyway?"_

" _I'm your_ brother _. It's everything to me. Now who the fuck gave that to you?"_

" _I'm not gonna tell you, Dean! I know what I'm doing!"_

" _You know fuck all about what you're doing, and you're gonna stop."_

" _It's not like it's my first time! For fuck's sake, Dean!"_

" _...it's not your first time?"_

" _Oh, for God's sake, how blind are you?! Where did you think I was going?"_

" _I –"_

" _You just didn't care. You never cared, you or Dad. If you had been here, ever, it never would have come to this."_

* * *

" _Sammy. You've got to stop this. Please."_

" _We have nothing to talk about."_

" _We have everything to talk about. Sam, you can't keep on bottling her up. What would she say if she saw you like this?"_

" _Well, she won't. Will she? Because she's dead."_

" _Sam –"_

" _Don't try to fix me, Dean! I'm not broken!"_

" _I'm not trying to fix you. I'm trying to help. You gotta stop. No amount of heroin is gonna bring Jess back, man."_

" _No. But it might take me to her."_

* * *

" _You Danny?"_

" _Sure am, mate. You want a joint or what?"_

" _I want you to stay the hell away from my little brother."_

" _How sweet. But see here, Bleeding Heart, I don't have the foggiest who your lil' brother is, and even if I did, why should I listen to you? His choice, innit?"_

" _You stay away from Sam Winchester or I will enthusiastically slit you from spleen to skull. You hear me?"_

" _I hear you. I'll send Samster 'round with a nice roll-up for you next time. Something to soothe the temper."_

" _You better be fucking around. 'Cause I ain't."_

" _Oh, have no fear. I always fuck around."_

* * *

" _Hey, Sammy, I got the – Sam? Sam!_

" _Oh God, Sam, c'mon, open your eyes!_

" _Godammit,_ breathe _, you bitch!_

" _Sam!_ Sam don't you fucking dare I swear I will –"

* * *

" _911, what's your emergency?"_

" _My brother's dying, he overdosed on something, you have to send help now!"_

" _Stay calm, sir. Where are you?"_

" _Highway Motel, Hoopeston, Illinois."_

" _Is your brother breathing?"_

" _No, I can't get him to breathe, please help me!"_

" _I'm trying to, sir. Do you know CPR?"_

" _No, I can't – I can't do anything, I –"_

" _Sir, I'm going to need you to stay calm and do exactly as I say. Emergency services are on their way."_

* * *

" _I'm sorry, Sir, but –"_

" _He's not dead. There's no way. Why aren't you saving him, do your fucking job!"_

" _Sir, his heart's stopped. There's nothing we can do. I'm so sorry for your –"_

_Crunch._

" _My God, Tom, are you alright? Holy shit, the guy's a lunatic."_

" _Hey! You! Stop where you are immediately! Stop, I said! Oi!"_

* * *

" _Well hey, there, Sam's-my-lil'-brother, did you get the joint I packed up for you?"_

" _You fucking son of a bitch, I'll_ kill _you!"_

" _Now, there's no need to get violent, I'm just doing my job..."_

" _It's your fault! It's all your fucking fault!"_

" _Hey, there, now, take it eas– aaAARGH!"_

" _You fucking_ cunt _, I'm gonna kill you, you scum, worthless, evil, whoring –"_

" _Aaah...please...no, please,_ no _! NO!"_

* * *

" _Dean Winchester, you are charged with assault against an official and unprovoked grievous bodily harm. How do you plead?"_

" _Guilty."_

* * *

" _Do you regret what you did?"_

" _No."_

" _Then why did you plead guilty?"_

" _What would be the point of drawing it out? I ain't got nothing to live for anymore."_

" _There's always something to live for, Dean."_

" _What, like a lifetime of shrinks like you? I'd rather take the death penalty, thanks."_

" _Well, it looks like you're in the wrong place, then."_

* * *

" _I'm going to a loony bin?"_

" _You're going to a hospital. To get better."_

" _Am I going to get better?"_

" _I should say so. They even asked to have you."_

" _Huh. Where is it?"_

" _Balt's Psychiatric Hospital."_

" _For the criminally insane?"_

" _Not exclusively."_

" _Is it nice?"_

" _Can't say I've ever been."_

" _When do I leave?"_

" _Next week."_

" _Okay."_

* * *

Dean wrenched himself out of the whirlpool of his memories. He still felt as if he couldn't breathe. Naomi was watching him, perfectly silent. Dean ignored her as best he could, his mind still churning.

Sam.

How could he have forgotten Sam?

His little brother!

"He's dead, Mr Winchester." Naomi's unwelcome voice broke the feverish silence.

Dean stared at her with wild eyes. "I know," he said. He lurched upright and staggered out of the room.

As he rushed down the corridors, Dean realised he was terrified. The pounding in his head, the roaring in his ears, the numbness in his fingers...it wasn't there. He could not feel a single one of the things he knew he was supposed to be feeling. He felt normal. And that, under the circumstances, was petrifyingly abnormal. His mind was no longer bound, his memories were roaming free.

Sam's eyes, chocolate brown and warm, pupils minute pinpricks.

Those same eyes, unfocused, staring into space and reacting to nothing.

Dean shuddered and walked faster. He sped through the rec room, ignoring Charlie's greeting, and slammed the door to his room behind him. He crumbled onto the bed and let the panic take him.

* * *

Lisa looked up, worry creasing her forehead. "What's wrong with Dean?"

Meg glanced at her. "You mean that stick of greased thundercloud that just blew through here? No idea. Ask his boyfriend."

Lisa bit her lip and did just that. Walking over to where Castiel sat, a little apart from Charlie and her group, she said quietly, "Is Dean okay?"

The man looked up at her with large, hesitant eyes.

"Because I don't think so."

"If you don't think so," Meg said mockingly, appearing behind her, "then go and ask him about it yourself, Lis. Hell, maybe you can help." She winked at her lewdly.

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "I thought you hated Dean."

"I do. I have my own agenda."

Lisa regarded her for a second before nodding and heading for Dean's room. She knocked quietly, then more insistently as she heard no reply. "Dean?" she called. "It's me."

"You can come in," Dean said from the other side of the door.

Lisa turned the handle and stepped inside. Dean was sitting on the edge of his mattress, hair a mess and face pale.

She sniffed suspiciously. "It smells of vomit in here," she announced, padding up to him and cupping his face in her cool hands. He closed his eyes to the touch. "Are you alright?" she whispered.

Dean began to nod, then shook his head. "I really don't know," he croaked. "I don't know what's happening."

"If you've been sick, we need to take you to Crowley."

"No, that was this morning. I'm fine now."

"You're obviously not."

"Okay, I'm fine _physically_."

"And mentally?"

"Not so good."

Lisa sat next to him and entwined their fingers together. "Tell me," she urged him.

"I can't," Dean admitted. "I really can't."

"Should I bring Castiel?"

"No," Dean said too quickly. "No, I..." He trailed off and reached up with his free hand, caressing her face with his knuckles. He leaned in close, foreheads touching and breath mingling. " _Please_ ," he begged, a thing he rarely lowered himself to.

Lisa kissed him chastely, but pulled back after a few seconds. "Do you have a condom?"

"Yes."

"Why now?" she said. "Why now exactly?"

Dean heaved a shaky sigh. "I just want to forget."

Lisa smiled sadly. "I can do that." She caught his lips with her own, and they sank down onto the mattress.

* * *

"So, Clarence, how's it going?"

Castiel made no move to answer.

Meg sighed. "Looks like this is going to be a fun conversation." She plonked herself down next to him in any case, though not close enough to make him uncomfortable.

Castiel regarded her with mild curiosity. Meg didn't often speak to him, and tried to start a conversation even less so. Despite this, Castiel (as well as most of the patients) knew that she had something of a crush on him, if someone like Meg could be reconciled with a concept like that. Astoundingly, this idea did not make him feel awkward. She wasn't clingy or suffocating. Castiel actually quite enjoyed her humour, in fact, when it was of the clean variety.

"I'm a little bit worried," Meg admitted quietly after a while of silence. "About Dean and Lisa. Especially Lisa. Obviously."

Castiel watched her, waiting for her to go on.

"They just seem really...dependant on each other. It ain't healthy."

Castiel furrowed his brows. Dean was dependant on Lisa, it was true, but Lisa didn't seem to revolve around him in the same way at all.

Meg saw his confusion. "Okay, maybe I expressed myself badly. Lisa doesn't _need_ Dean, per se, but she's way happier with him in her life in some form. Even her nosebleeds don't come as often as they used to. Though it's still pretty often, I'll admit." A frustrated sigh. "And we all know how gooey-eyed Winchester is about her. A bit sickening, really. Pathetic guy, unable to function without a girlfriend. Did he have one before? Before he came here, I mean."

Castiel shrugged.

"Hasn't told you, huh? Hm. Would have thought you two'd be pouring your hearts out to each other, given how close you are. You two are sickening as well actually, did you know that?" She grinned at him cheekily. "I'm amazed you're not together. Or are you?" She narrowed her eyes.

Castiel didn't understand.

With a roll of her eyes, Meg clarified, too slowly to not be insulting. "Are you in a romantic relationship, Clarence?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow and jerked his head at the door Lisa had left through not long ago.

"Yeah, I know those two are fucking, but it's hardly an exclusive arrangement, is it? Though I suppose you're not really the type for a touchy-feely relationship."

For some inexplicable reason, Castiel felt the urge to argue. He suppressed it.

"But yeah, I'm a little concerned. And by a little, I mean a lot. The orderlies are always watching them when they're together and, creepiness aside, that's worrying. It makes me wonder: who are they reporting to? Because they sure as hell don't _look_ like curious voyeurs."

Castiel flicked an eye over to the orderlies, who were standing in the corner, talking quietly. He hadn't noticed the observation, if it was there at all. Meg was known for suddenly recalling having seen certain things when it was convenient. Castiel wondered what her goal in this conversation was.

"Okay, the truth is," Meg whispered suddenly, urgently, "I was in the staff wing a few days ago. Camael wanted to talk to me, something about me being disrespectful in Group or whatever. But I passed Naomi's office on the way back. She was talking to Raphael. The door was open and I don't think they saw me; I stopped before I went into their line of sight. But...they were talking about Dean. And Lisa. And you."

Castiel felt his stomach turn to ice.

Meg inhaled deliberately. "I didn't really understand. Still don't. But it was scary as fuck. They were saying how well the "experiment" was going, and how "interesting" it was that Dean had formed such strong relationships of his own accord, like he's some fucking robot or whatever! They said something about it seeming that you and he had "made peace" and how that was going to affect whatever they were observing. But then...they started talking about Lisa, saying she was negatively affecting his mind, making him too dependant on her like she's doing it on _purpose_ , for fuck's sake! And then they decided they would "take her out of the equation"."

Castiel's face froze in a picture of shock and fear, eyes wide and mouth slack.

Meg's face mirrored his, her sarcastic farce vanished now. "I don't know what that means, and I don't want to find out!" she said. "I haven't dared say anything to Lisa: she'd think I was making it up and hang around with him even more just to spite me, but I know those people, Castiel." It was the first time she had ever used his real name. "I know what their boundaries are. Non-existent. I have no fucking idea what this "experiment" is supposed to be, but I know that Lisa needs to get as far away from it as possible, _now_. And you've got to help me." Her eyes were wide, honest, and desperate. "Please."

"I –" Castiel started before he broke off.

A trickle of blood was making its way down Meg's upper lip. Noticing his gaze, Meg reached up to touch it, looking at her red-stained fingertips with disgust. "Oh great," she muttered. "Looks like Lisa's fucking infectious after all."

Then she doubled over and vomited blood all over the floor.

Motionless and uncomprehending, Castiel stared as the blood started soaking into his shoes. He stared aghast at Meg, who had blood dripping in a fountain down her chin and lips, gasping desperately and looking at the blood with horror in her eyes.

They heard a scream, and Charlie rushed over. "Oh my fucking God!" she shouted, reaching for Meg. "What happened?!"

Meg only retched again and sprayed blood all down Castiel's front, soaking him quickly to the skin. He didn't move. He couldn't move.

Screaming for help, Charlie supported Meg as best she could as the dark-haired woman coughed up more and more blood. It wouldn't stop: the couch was ruined, a lake was quickly forming on the floor and creeping up Castiel's trouser leg. Andy ran for Crowley, looking more frightened than Castiel had ever seen him. Garth looked ready to faint, tears streaming down his face as Mr Fizzles lay limp and forgotten on the floor where he'd dropped him. The other patients had formed a morbid circle around them, watching in helpless terror as Meg choked, drowning on the crimson fluid pouring out of her mouth. The orderlies had vanished.

As Meg's jerking and convulsing weakened and she began to gurgle ominously – Charlie's attempts to clear her respiratory tract next to useless – Castiel suddenly jerked into life.

Meg was going to die. That much was obvious.

He had to tell Lisa.

As he sprinted as fast as he could to Dean's room, where he knew Lisa had gone, Castiel was forced to acknowledge the reason why he was doing this. He wasn't especially attached to Lisa; he wasn't attached at all, even. But her relationship with Meg was something similar to the one between himself and Dean. And if Dean was dying, Castiel would want to be there, at any cost.

He burst into Room 107 without knocking and immediately froze in the doorway. Lisa shrieked and ineffectually tried to cover her breasts, cowering behind an equally naked Dean, who looked furious until he noticed the bloodstains soaking Castiel's scrubs.

"Holy shit!" he cried, jumping out of the bed and leaving Lisa to hide her modesty behind the duvet. "Cas, what the hell happened? Are you alright?!" His voice was a full octave higher than normal, and he reached for Castiel as if to examine him for any injuries.

Castiel shook him off impatiently. "It's not mine," he snapped more curtly than he intended to. "Lisa," he addressed the woman who was pulling on her shirt. "It's Meg. She's...I don't know what happened, but –"

Lisa's head snapped up. "Is all that blood _hers_?!" she squawked. Castiel nodded, face pale.

Lisa jumped out of the bed, embarrassment forgotten and hastily pulled on the rest of her clothes. "No, no, no..." she was moaning quietly.

"Lisa," Dean said gently, trying to calm her down.

"Get out of my way!" she almost screamed, pushing him to the side. He stumbled into Castiel, who caught him under the arms, hands clutching Dean's bare chest.

When Dean made to follow Lisa, Castiel held him back. "You're still unclothed," he reminded him.

Dean remembered himself and stiffened, awkwardly detaching himself from Castiel's grip. Pulling on his trousers, he looked sheepishly up at Castiel and said, "Sorry you had to see all that."

"I should apologise for barging in unannounced," Castiel told him, "but I'm not sorry."

Dean's face became sober. "You shouldn't be. Come on, maybe we can help." He made to exit the room, but Castiel grabbed his arm.

"I don't want to go back. I can't," he whispered desperately, begging. "Please. There's nothing we can do. There's nothing _anyone_ can do."

Dean's brow furrowed and he glanced worriedly in the direction of the rec room. "What happened?" he asked finally.

Castiel rubbed his hands over his face and belatedly realised they were still soaked in tacky blood. He felt suddenly ill, stomach heaving. Dean seemed to notice and quickly grabbed his arm (which, though Castiel would never tell him, instantly lessened the nausea), guiding him to the bathroom.

"Hey," he said, "don't worry yourself about it. Let's get you cleaned up, and you can tell me about it whenever you feel ready."

Castiel nodded shakily, the horror of the situation finally catching up with him. He felt close to tears, and when Dean shot him the kindest smile Castiel could remember seeing on a face, he mortifyingly lost control over his emotions, tears sliding down his cheeks and mixing with the blood on their way. He sobbed painfully.

"Hey, hey, shh," Dean murmured gently, patting Castiel's shoulder, the only part of him that wasn't covered in blood. He seated Castiel on the edge of the toilet, brought a flannel (unfortunately white) and wetted it with warm water, dabbing at Castiel's face. "Try to calm down," he said.

"How can I calm down?" Castiel hiccuped. "She was _dying_ , Dean, right in front of my eyes! There was no warning, she just suddenly –" He broke off, breathing deeply.

Dean was slowly unbuttoning his red, sopping shirt, slipping it off his shoulders and over his hands. Castiel should have felt exposed, uncomfortable, but all he registered was a feeling of gratitude as Dean began to wipe off the blood that had seeped through the material.

Castiel forced himself to calm down, concentrating on the warm flannel against his chest. He opened his mouth to speak. "It wasn't natural. I'm sure of it."

Dean glanced up at him, silently prompting him to go on.

"It wasn't a brain haemorrhage or stomach cancer..." Castiel continued. "It was nothing I ever thought was possible."

"Do you think someone did it on purpose?"

"Do you mean do I think she was murdered?" Castiel asked, meeting his friend's eye. "Because the answer is yes."

Dean nodded slowly. "How do you think they did it?" he asked, voice sounding a little strange.

Castiel shook his head. "I don't know. I have absolutely no notion. No poison could have done that. She was expelling... _everything_." The nausea returned.

Dean fixed his eyes on his work again. "I feel like I should be there," he said, subdued. "I mean, we didn't exactly get along, but I spent a lot of time with her. And Lisa..." He bit his lip.

Castiel regarded him sadly. Dean had fallen in love with Lisa, or something of the like. Castiel didn't really understand, but he could empathise with the need to be beside a loved one as they went through something painful.

"She'll be gone by now, but you don't have to stay here. Go."

"No way." Dean shook his head decisively.

Dean finished cleaning Castiel's torso and rinsed the cloth, regarding Castiel's blood-spattered trousers with apprehension. "I don't know what you're going to wear for the rest of the day. I suppose I could nick something from the laundry room."

"I'd really rather just stay in bed all day," Castiel admitted tiredly, standing and removing his stained clothing. "Can I stay here?" he asked, hope seeping into his voice where he hadn't allowed it.

Dean barely considered. "Sure you can, but you have to eat something for dinner, at least. And there's only the one bed, so I'd either have to camp in yours or you move out before lock-in."

Castiel looked down as he muttered, shamefaced, "I'd rather not be alone." He knew the nightmares would come, and the prospect of being completely solitary in a dark, unfriendly room was not a welcoming one.

Dean gazed at him inscrutably. "Well..." he sighed. "I suppose it'll be fine for one night. Truth be told, I'm not too eager to spend the night alone myself, and now the mood with Lisa's kinda been murdered..." He winced at the bad choice of words. "Not that I'm insinuating we do the stuff I was doing with Lisa," he babbled hurriedly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nah, I just meant –"

"I know." Castiel stood up and padded into the bedroom to slip under the duvet, facing the wall. The pillow smelled of Dean.

Dean hovered, unsure, by the bedside. "Are you alright now?" he asked.

Castiel could tell he was itching to get away. Without turning around, he mumbled, "You can go."

Dean went.

* * *

Dean stared, stock still, at the enormous pool of blood covering the rec room floor. Meg's body was gone, removed by the orderlies and taken to Crowley's room, Dean assumed. The room was almost deserted, apart from a crying Charlie and Garth being inadequately comforted by Andy, who looked as if he were about to join them. Lisa was standing at the edge of the blood, gazing at it blankly. Dean stepped softly over to her.

"Hey."

She didn't move a muscle to acknowledge him. "Please go away." Her voice sounded hauntingly hollow, almost as if the words she was speaking were mere echoes.

Dean blinked in slight surprise and stepped back a little. "I –"

"I'm sorry, but I just can't anymore!" Lisa snapped, face suddenly animated with anger and misplaced hatred. "Leave me alone!" The words fell like stones at their feet.

Dean felt his face crack. "Lisa, we can talk..." he tried.

"I don't _want_ to talk!" she exploded, sending bullets of saliva flying into his face. "It's your fault I wasn't there! I could have helped her! It's _all your fault_!"

Dean inhaled sharply. Images of Meg's sarky face flashed before his eyes, then Lisa's, reluctant and apologetic.

_You're just getting into too much trouble._

_I just don't want to get too mixed up in it._

_Meg's pretty much the biggest risk I can take here. And she keeps her head down._

Dean had unwittingly drawn attention to them. Whatever Meg had done, whatever she might have discovered, wouldn't have ended in her murder unless he'd been in the equation.

They weren't the only ones he was putting in danger. Castiel's face, shattered and stinging, after Dean had screamed at him.

_Look at you!_

Kevin's new face, blank and void of any real thought or feeling. He only had a half-life now.

_Take my word for it. I'm going to do much more tomorrow._

Sam's face, pale and staring, his eyes bloodshot and constricted.

_You just didn't care. You never cared, you or Dad._

The drug dealer, Danny, face swollen purple, disfigured. He'd had brain damage, they told him. Dean wondered if he was in a place like this. So many lives he had ruined, and nothing he could do to ever make up for it.

"Yeah," he said. "Looks like a lot of things are my fault."

He traipsed back to his room.

"Seems like I'm not getting laid anymore," he sighed, trying to put a swing into his voice as he closed the door and walked over to where Castiel lay.

Castiel gave him a sympathetic, knowing look. Dean hated it. "I'm sorry it had to end like that."

"Yeah. Same."

Dean sat down on the mattress, kicking off his shoes. He stared morosely at his socked toes for a short, sad silence.

"Hey, Cas?" he said finally.

"Yes, Dean?"

"I have something to tell you."

He heard Castiel sit up behind him, mattress dipping under his shifting weight.

"What is it?"

"It's why I needed Lisa," Dean hedged, feet suddenly cold. "To help me forget."

"Forget what?"

Dean bit his lip. "I remembered."

It took a while for Castiel to understand. "You remembered your past," he stated finally, amazement permeating every word.

"Yeah."

"When?"

"With Naomi."

"Naomi...?"

"Yeah." Dean winced at the memory. "They did it, Cas. They wiped my memory. I'm guessing they wiped yours, too. But she said it was harming me, she knew about the vomiting, and the outbursts, and the seizure...she said they decided it'd be better to let me remember than let me die. By better, I mean more entertaining." His voice took on a hard, angry note and he almost gagged on the bitter taste of undiluted hatred.

Castiel shifted closer to him, a hand resting on Dean's shoulder. Dean could feel the heat radiating off Castiel's chest. "What did you remember?" he asked quietly.

Dean swallowed. "I had a brother," he said.

"Had?"

"He's dead." The memory should have hurt him more than it did, and Dean realised he was numbed to pain. "It was my fault."

He could hear Castiel's frown in the way his grip tightened. "How did he die?" he asked, without hesitation or scruples.

"Overdose," Dean told him. "Dunno what of."

"That is not your fault, Dean." Castiel was using his no-nonsense voice, the one that brooked no argument. Dean appreciated his certainty.

"I only noticed his addiction too late, Cas. He was long gone by the time I tried to help."

"It's not your fault," Castiel insisted. "He wouldn't blame you."

_You just didn't care._

"He would. And he should."

A brief silence.

"What was his name?"

Dean closed his eyes. "Sam."

"Sam Winchester." Castiel rolled the name over his tongue, trying it out. "Did he look like you?"

Dean nearly smiled. "Not at all. He took after Dad. I'm more like Mom. They're dead too," he added as an afterthought.

Castiel ignored it. "Your mother must have been a beautiful lady," he said instead.

Dean's heart tripped. "What? Uh...yeah, I guess she was. I can't remember her too well, she died when I was really young." He remembered flames and heat and _Take your brother and go_!

"I'm sorry," Castiel said honestly.

"Don't be. Please."

Castiel sighed and lay back down, hand sliding off Dean's shoulder. "Do you remember why you were placed here, then?" he asked.

"Mm. I punched the paramedic that tried to tell me Sam was gone and then damn near killed his dealer."

Castiel didn't comment on his crimes. "Were you sent here immediately afterwards?"

"No. Almost two months. They asked for me. Which is worrying," Dean remembered, blinking slowly.

A sigh from behind him. "I think I'm already as worried as humanly possible," Castiel admitted. "Bad news seems to have no effect on me now."

 _That makes two of us, then_ , Dean thought as his friend tugged him down onto the bed, flinging the duvet over him. They slept until the next morning.


	20. Chapter 20

Dean yawned lazily and cracked open his eyes to find himself eyeball to eyeball with Castiel, whose irises, Dean later thought irritably, were far too bright to wake up to.

"Jesus –!" he exclaimed, lurching away and nearly falling off the bed. "Ever heard of personal space?" he cried, regathering his calm.

"My apologies," Castiel said calmly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Don't worry about it," Dean told him, heartbeat back to normal. "Yours wasn't exactly the face I was hoping to see first thing this morning, but I guess it's nice to have someone else heating up the duvet."

Castiel regarded him out of the corner of his eye. "You need to stop thinking about Lisa," he said. "You will make yourself unhappy."

Dean rolled his eyes. "No need for my input there." His thoughts erred to Sam and Meg, and he felt his previously decent mood disintegrate.

Castiel noticed his face drop and took his arm, pulling Dean off the mattress with him as he stood up. "Come," he said commandingly. "I would like fried eggs today, and those are always taken quickly."

Dean nodded, showered and dressed. He and Castiel made their way down to the canteen and were just polishing off their plates when a shadow fell over their table. It was Crowley.

"Hello, boys," was all he even vaguely addressed to Dean before turning to Castiel. "I was wondering whether we could have a talk. And by talk, I mean a two-way, I'm afraid, if you'd give me the honour."

Castiel and Dean eyed him with the same wary gaze. "What do you want to talk about?" Dean asked.

Crowley seemed to consider. "Hm. I do believe that might just be none of your business, George. Well, Thursday, how about it?" he pushed. "Come with me, this conversation is going to need private." Castiel and Dean both stood up, and he quickly snapped, "Not you, Squirrel!"

Castiel sat pointedly back down.

The doctor sighed heavily. "Jesus bloody Christ, you two are impossible. Fine. You can bring your boyfriend."

Dean tried not to openly seethe as they were herded out of the doors.

In Crowley's infirmary, the man reclined in his chair and fixed them with a piercing gaze.

"Now," he said, "if you had a brain between the pair of you, you probably would have guessed what this is about by now. As you don't, I shall explain." He paused dramatically. "Yesterday, as I'm sure you are aware, was a rather...novel day in this establishment."

Dean twigged. "This is about Meg."

"Well done, George, A* for you." Crowley turned to Castiel. "Eyewitnesses tell me you were talking to Meg just before she died. Or, to be exact, she was talking to you, I suppose." He grinned slightly, and was met with twin stony glares. "Oh, fine, I'll be serious. I suppose the matter does warrant it." He leaned forward and looked Castiel in the eye. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about any symptoms Meg may have had before the ones that everyone else saw."

Dean frowned suspiciously. "Why would you need to ask about that?" he said. "Surely it's kind of a moot point now."

Crowley glanced at him, but the look wasn't filled with the sardonic exasperation Dean had been expecting.

"It would be," the doctor admitted, "but unfortunately, with Meg's case, I find myself at quite a loss. You see, I've never seen anything like that before, and I can't think of any possible explanation. It wasn't a haemorrhage, it wasn't cancer..." Crowley trailed off, looking troubled. "Anyway," he restarted, "as I'm sure is evident, I can hardly just leave these extremely important loose ends untied. If there is another case such as this, I need to be ready to handle it. This way, we might be able to avoid the death of another." He looked back at Castiel. "And so. May I ask you some questions? It shouldn't take long."

Castiel hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Excellent. Did Meg show any signs of pain or discomfort before the...I'm not sure what to call it, to be honest, but I assume you know what I'm referring to."

Castiel nodded, swallowing briefly before speaking quietly. "No, she seemed normal. The only warning was a nosebleed."

"A nosebleed? How soon before the...event did this happen?"

"A few seconds."

Crowley sighed. "It was a part of the final stage, then. Are you sure there was nothing else? I've already spoken to Lisa, and she says the same as you. Meg was normal, both in behaviour and body, right up until the moment she died. I just don't understand _how_."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. "You don't understand how what?"

Crowley ran a hand through his sparse hair. "How there could have possibly been no symptoms. We're not talking about a sudden bout of hay-fever here, the damage to her body was immense!"

"How immense?"

Crowley paused. "Not completely sure I should be telling you all this," he admitted, "but her insides were liquefied. Completely. There was nothing left. Brain, stomach, lungs...I've never heard of anything like it at all. It's _impossible_ that it all happened spontaneously, or even after death. I only got there a minute after she died."

There was a short, dreadful silence.

Dean opened his mouth and slowly asked, "Do you reckon the fact that the nosebleed came first has any significance?"

Crowley squinted at him. "What? No, why would I?"

"It just...I dunno, seems a bit weird. Meg hung around with Lisa a lot, Lisa gets a lot of nosebleeds..."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well, sorry to disappoint, George, but apart from the astounding irony of it all, I see no reason why the nosebleed should hold any particular significance. Fate does seem to have a warped sense of humour."

Dean glowered. "She does, doesn't she?" he muttered.

He caught Castiel's glance and correctly translated it to: _What on earth are you planning now?_

* * *

"I'm telling you, it'll work!" Dean insisted through a mouthful of bread.

Castiel sighed. "And what if it damages him?"

"Naomi said they've completely burnt his mind out anyway," Dean argued. "How much worse can he get?"

They were, of course, talking about Kevin. Dean's idea was to try and jog his memory, to see if he could possibly tell them any more about their foes running the establishment. Castiel was against this idea.

"Are you willing to risk Kevin's mind, maybe even his _life_ , on this shot in the dark?" he demanded.

"It's him or everyone else," Dean said. "And he's not Kevin anymore. Not really."

Castiel's tired, sad eyes told Dean he couldn't argue further.

They made a plan. They would fetch the parting gifts Kevin had given to them: the book and the ring. The book had Kevin's name in it, and Kevin had told Dean the ring belonged to his mother. If anything would allow him to remember, these objects would.

After Group, they would find Kevin and somehow lure him away from public, in case the side effects of the remembering gave them away. That part of the plan was still hazy, but Dean assured Castiel he would work it out.

Just before three pm, Castiel hid the book in his trousers and Dean slipped the ring into the cuff of his shirt. It would be a job for Castiel to keep the book hidden under the watchful eyes of Naomi, but he convinced Dean that all would be well: he'd had practice.

Group was, thankfully, an uneventful affair. Naomi asked everyone questions and was met with short, vague answers. Even Charlie had lost her fight against the woman, and she was abnormally quiet for the entire half-hour. It was an unusually short session for one headed by Naomi, but Dean and Castiel were thankful: every second in close proximity with her made them more and more nervous.

Finally, it was over, and the group left Naomi to stack the chairs herself, filing silently out of the room. As the door shut, Charlie perked up and asked Dean and Castiel whether they wanted to play a game until supper. They politely refused, but set off in the direction of the rec room with her anyway, to wait for Kevin.

Twenty minutes passed, and Dean saw Lisa pass the rec room doors, heading for her room. He nudged Castiel.

"Kevin's group's been dismissed," he whispered. "Where is he?"

Castiel shrugged ad continued to pick at the hole on the knee of his trousers nervously. Dean realised Castiel was still upset at the idea of forcing Kevin's mind to remember the undoubtedly traumatic events immediately after his resignation, and he understood. He was uncomfortable with it himself. But they'd hit a dead-end, with no help from a member of the staff and Naomi watching them like a hawk. And it was getting serious now: Meg's demise attested to that. They didn't have another moment to lose.

"Come on," Dean said finally, standing up and stretching. "Let's go look for him. He can't have gone far."

Castiel sighed and nodded.

They went to Room 127, where Dean remembered Raziel saying Kevin would sleep. Dean knocked briskly and, at the absence of an answer, quietly turned the handle. The room was empty, and he shut the door in frustration.

"Dammit," he cursed. "Where the hell is he?"

"Perhaps he stayed after Group awhile," Castiel suggested. "Or he could be lost."

They slunk back to the northern side of the wing, where Group took place. Sure enough, they found Kevin wandering along the corridors with slow, shuffling steps.

"Hey, man!" Dean called to him.

Kevin turned, eyes leaving the floor only to shoot sporadic, anxious glances at them. "You're Lisa's friend," he mumbled to the floorboards.

Dean nodded, trying to look cheerful. "Yeah, that me. Dean. This is Castiel." He gestured to his friend.

There was a brief, intensely awkward silence, before Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, you lost, dude?" he asked.

Kevin nodded jerkily. "The shrink asked me to help clear up and by the time I got out, everyone had gone," he said.

"No worries," Dean said, clapping him on the shoulder and pretending not to balk as Kevin flinched away from him. "We'll show you back to the rec room. But first, uh, we wanted to welcome you. Properly, I mean. It's been a bit crazy since you came, I haven't really had a chance to talk to you that much."

"You were sick my first morning," Kevin remembered, shuffling a few tiny steps back as if Dean would suddenly projectile vomit all over him.

Dean nodded stiffly. "Yeah, not one of my best days. And then...well, you heard about Meg."

"Lisa's other friend."

"That's the one."

"I heard."

Another silence.

"Anyway," Dean restarted as Castiel poked him viciously in the back, "we wanted to welcome you, yeah. You like to read, don't you?"

At the unofficial cue, Castiel produced the book and offered it to Kevin, who eyed it with trepidation.

"Not really," he mumbled.

"Take a look," Dean urged. "It's a good one."

Kevin obeyed, hunching his shoulders to shield his face from Dean as he meekly took the book. Dean wondered what he'd done to warrant such fear.

Kevin held the book gingerly, as if he didn't quite know what to do with it. "Quantum Explained," he read out slowly, a question in his voice.

"Yeah, really riveting read," Dean blustered, cursing Castiel's choice in literature. "How about you take a look inside?"

Kevin shook his head weakly, handing the book back. "I'm alright. Thanks," he added as an afterthought.

Dean tried not to growl in frustration. "Well, if you don't want the book, take this," he said, handing the ring to the boy, who shied away before holding out his palm to receive it. "A friend gave it to me," Dean said meaningfully, "so I would remember him."

 _Let's hope you can remember yourself_ , he added silently.

Kevin turned the ring over in his hand, thumb tracing the groove carved into the band. For a second, something passed over his eyes and Dean was sure they'd done it, that Kevin would remember everything and help them escape, properly this time. Then Kevin shook his head again and passed the ring back.

"Sorry," he whispered, lisping slightly in anxiety. "I don't wear jewellery. Can we go back now?"

Dean deflated, nodding when he felt Castiel's hand on his back. "Yeah, yeah, sure. It's this way."

They led Kevin back to the rec room, where he trailed off to stare at the grainy television screen. It was nearly half past four, only an hour and a half to dinner, and Dean told Castiel he wanted to spend the time alone, to think, he said. Castiel's eyes were worried, but he didn't say anything.

Castiel walked with Dean to his room, giving him another pat on his shoulder before Dean stepped inside. "Don't be too disappointed," he said. "We knew it was unlikely to work."

Dean didn't even nod before he shut the door behind him.

Castiel sighed and made his way to his own room, wanting to hide the book back under his mattress where it belonged. Making sure no one was around, he fished it out of his trousers before opening his door.

Naomi was standing in the middle of the room. Her eyes fixed on the book in Castiel's hands before glancing up to his pale, shocked face.

"Don't you know patients are not permitted books, Castiel?" she asked, not expecting an answer.

Castiel took a step backwards, hands shaking so much they almost dropped the light paperback.

Naomi smiled, lips sealed in a perfect curve.

"Come with me, Castiel."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape/Dub con is very present in this chapter, DO NOT READ if you are triggered by this!

"You are probably wondering why I had Naomi fetch you, Castiel." The words were spoken without purpose, meant only to frighten him. Raphael knew how to play this game. Castiel, however, refused to be intimidated. He kept his silence, meeting Raphael's eyes defiantly despite the fear crippling his chest.

"How is Mr Winchester?" Raphael asked conversationally. When he received no answer, he merely smiled emptily. "Not in premium condition, I expect, after your failure with Mr Tran."

Castiel jolted, and Raphael's smile grew.

"Oh yes, I know about that, Castiel," he said precisely. "I know about everything."

 _What does he want from me?_ Castiel thought desperately, mind scrabbling for a way of escape but finding none.

"We want nothing _from_ you, Castiel," Raphael said, ignoring Castiel's gasp of surprise. "It is merely a matter of what we want to _give_ you."

 _What do you want to give to me?_ Castiel thought before he could stop himself and slam the brakes on his mind.

Raphael folded his hands on his lap. "Information," he said simply. "That is what you want, is it not?"

It was, and they both knew it.

"I shall begin, then," Raphael said, "with Dean Winchester. Unfortunate man, such promise. But nevertheless perfect for our experiment."

The words had their desired effect, and Castiel's spine stiffened, eyes flashing.

Raphael ignored his anger and continued. "The most amusing aspect of this entire scenario is, however, that the pair of you seem to think this experiment revolves around _him_."

Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion as he processed this sentence, and a cold dread permeated his bones.

"It doesn't, Castiel."

His ears were ringing, his vision overcome by a blinding light.

"It revolves around you."

Suddenly the light and noise was gone, and it was only Castiel and Raphael in the bare, simple room. Castiel raised his eyes wearily, meeting Raphael's triumphant ones.

"But it's nearly over, Castiel," Raphael insisted. "What you did was not easily forgiveable, but Michael believes you have now repented enough. You can go home, Castiel, it won't be long now."

"I don't have a home," Castiel's voice was hoarse and stripped bare.

"You do," Raphael assured him. "You just do not remember. You were cast out, Castiel, and bound to this weak human form, sentenced to punishment on Earth." His words were not making sense and Castiel's began to slowly shake his head as if he could deny their very existence. "This establishment was created for you, to provide the perfect setting for your punishment. Dean Winchester was to be the final touch: we would find a man that would complement you exactly, we would incubate a profound bond between the two of you and then we would break him, and you with him."

The dread in Castiel's bones turned to fear, an all-consuming terror that set his frozen form on fire.

"But things did not quite go as planned," Raphael admitted. "The bond became stronger than even we had expected, and you support him as much as he supports you. Dean Winchester is beyond our reach now. We have returned his memories to him, as I am sure you are aware, and with it his insanity that would have made your relationship impossible. He is of no use now. But Michael has grown bored of this little game we have been playing and wishes to end it. It will not be long now, Castiel, until you may have your memories and your home returned to you."

"What about Dean?" Castiel demanded weakly, already knowing the answer deep in the pit of his stomach.

Raphael leaned back in his chair. "As I said, he is of no use now. The hospital will be destroyed, and all those in it. They have served their purpose."

Horror consumed Castiel. "You can't!" he sputtered. He thought of Charlie's smile, Garth's cheer, Chuck's kindness. Dean.

"They will mean nothing to you once you are returned to your true form, Castiel," Raphael said, and his voice was almost tender in its surety. "You will have your real family then."

"My real family?"

"You are one of us, Castiel. You will remember, when the time comes."

"I'm a Balt?" Castiel's voice was heavy with pain and disbelief.

"None of us are Balts," Raphael told him simply. "Our family does not have a name. But yes, you are our sibling, Castiel, and we are happy to see you nearing the end of your punishment."

Castiel shook his head determinedly, standing up. "I don't believe it," he cried. "It's not true!"

"It is true, Castiel. You feel it."

Castiel did feel it. Raphael's words carried an inexplicable weight to them, and Castiel knew, through some long-forgotten instinct, that they were the truth.

"Why am I being punished?" he asked shakily, still standing. "What did I do?"

"You will remember in due course, Castiel," Raphael told him calmly, smiling benignly.

The harmless smile reminded Castiel of Raphael's poisonous nature, the atrocities he had committed in this establishment. "If you and Naomi are my family..." he began slowly.

"Your siblings," Raphael corrected.

"My...siblings," Castiel said, the words sticking in his throat, "then why are you so cruel? Why do you deliberately torment me?"

"You need to be punished, Castiel," Raphael insisted. "You will agree once you remember what you did. We do not _enjoy_ the task, but –"

"You do," Castiel said, conviction in his voice. "All of you Balts enjoy the cruel aspect of your 'task'. And I will _never_ be one of you! _Never_!"

"If you are not one of us," Raphael said, smile petrifying until it appeared to be carved from granite, "then where, tell me, do you belong?"

His smirk made Castiel sick. He remained standing, fiery-eyed, for a few seconds before he rushed out of the room, not pausing to slam the door behind him.

Dean nearly had a heart attack as the door to his room flew open with a loud crash, Castiel flying through the doorway and flinging it shut after him. Then the man appeared suddenly unable to move, frozen in front of the trembling wood and breathing heavily, wild-eyed and wild-haired.

Dean stood up, worry pushing his frustration at their failure with Kevin to the back of his mind. "Cas, what's wrong? What happened?"

Castiel stared at him blankly for a second. His face crumpled and he gasped for air as if it were paining him, falling forward and clutching at Dean like a lifeline. Dean held him close, shuffling backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He sat down heavily, taking Castiel's weight with him, and manoeuvred his friend to sit next to him on the bed.

"What's wrong?" he repeated insistently, patting Castiel's cheek firmly to gain his attention. "Are you sick?"

Castiel shook his head, then nodded. "I don't know," he groaned weakly.

"Should we move to the bathroom?" Dean asked, concerned.

"No, I...just need to calm down." Castiel took a few, deep breaths and appeared to relax slightly, though the leg pressed to Dean's transferred the shivers wracking his body to Dean's own. Believing Castiel cold, Dean flung an arm over his shoulders and tugged him closer. Castiel buried his face into Dean's neck, and Dean tried not to shiver as his warm breath puffed over his clavicle, condensation dampening his skin. This was Castiel, he reminded himself, not Lisa.

After a few long minutes, Castiel had regained himself enough to speak. "Naomi was waiting for me in my room," he whispered.

Dean's arm went rigid around Castiel's body, almost crushing him. "What? What did she do? Did she hurt you?" he demanded frantically.

He felt Castiel shake his head slowly, his hair tickling Dean's jaw. "She took me to Raphael."

Now it was Dean who had to remember to breathe and regain his composure. He forced himself to remember that Castiel was _here_ , right next to him, apparently physically unharmed. He pushed the swelling wave of panic down, shoving it deep into the pit of his stomach, where it roiled and churned restlessly.

"What did he want?" Dean's voice betrayed his anxiety and fear, but it was pitched normally, and that was what counted.

Castiel swallowed and inhaled shakily. In, out, in, out...

Finally, "I can't," he whispered.

"What? Why not?"

"I just can't, I...what they told me..."

Dean frowned and let his arm fall from Castiel's shoulders. "So you don't trust me enough."

Castiel's head shot up, catching Dean in the jaw and sending him reeling, cradling his chin.

"Of course not!" Castiel cried, clutching at Dean's shirt and refusing to let go, even when Dean tried to pry his hands off. "I trust you more than anything, you're the only thing I have!"

"So why don't you tell me what happened?" Dean knew it wasn't fair be so confrontational, so angry, but he'd told Castiel everything, absolutely _everything_ about himself. He had no secrets from him, and the more he divulged the more impossible it became to ignore the fact that he knew next to nothing about his friend. And it hurt that he wouldn't even tell him this, after all they'd lived through.

Castiel hung his head, still clenching Dean's shirt in his fists. "I just can't bring myself to tell you. You'll...you'll push me away, and –"

Dean ripped himself away from Castiel's grasp, losing a few buttons in the process. "What's that supposed to make me think?!" he yelled. "What we have means nothing to you, I suppose! You think I'd just up and abandon you for one tiny thing? _God_ , Cas, do you even know me? Do you _want_ to?"

Castiel flinched at that. "I _do_ know you! You _will_ leave me – you get so _angry_!"

" _Well I'm angry now, aren't I_?" Dean growled, making to stand up. Castiel pulled him back down frantically, and their skulls collided painfully for a second time. "Jesus Christ!" Dean gritted out through the pain. "Let me the hell go!"

"No!" Castiel shouted as Dean tried to leave. "Please! I need you to stay with me!"

"You need me, huh?" Dean sneered. "That's a good one. You apparently don't need me enough to fucking _tell_ me –" His angry words were suffocated as Castiel slammed their lips together, locking his arms around Dean's neck and restraining him as he desperately pressed his mouth to Dean's over and over, eyes squeezed shut as if all the swirling fury surrounding them would burn away if he just wished hard enough.

Dean was frozen for all of a millisecond before he began to fight Castiel's grip, jerking his head away until the kisses fell on his jaw and neck. Castiel was far stronger than he appeared, he discovered, but Dean was nevertheless stronger. He finally managed to shove Castiel backwards enough to deal him a powerful punch to the face, finally breaking the man's hold and nearly sending him tumbling from the bed.

"What in fuck's name do you think you're doing?!" Dean shouted, incensed.

Castiel was cradling his nose, which was now streaming blood. Tears trickled down his cheeks. "Please," he whispered thickly, reaching for Dean again. "Please, I need..."

Dean slapped his hand away. Castiel grabbed his arm, leaving a bloody handprint on the cuff. He pulled Dean towards him, catching his hand as Dean attempted to punch him again. He forcefully sealed their mouths together again – the blood gave the kiss a rough, salty tang – and Dean saw red. He ripped his hands out of Castiel's iron grip and slapped him hard on the cheek, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and mashing him face down on the bed. Castiel writhed against his hold, futiley trying to breathe through the pillow as Dean all but tore Castiel's clothing away from his body. This was what they wanted, Dean told himself. He'd wanted it with Lisa, but he would have to make do. Castiel's desires were clear.

Deep down, though, Dean knew neither of them had ever wanted it like this, with Dean's rage blinding him to all but the red behind his eyes and Castiel's bloody tears soaking the pillow case.


	22. Chapter 22

Dean opened his eyes in surprise. He must have passed out. He felt uncomfortable and hot, dried sweat sticking his scrubs uncomfortably to his body. He turned his head. Castiel was lying next to him, still unconscious. The blood and tears had dried on his face. He looked dead.

Dean lurched upright, flinging the covers away from him. The violent movement jerked Castiel out of his dreamless slumber and he gazed blearily up at Dean, shirt still rucked uncomfortably up under his arms from the night before.

Dean didn't look at him, didn't speak to him as he got up to shower.

He turned the dial all the way to the left, the water still freezing as he stepped inside the cubicle, but as the droplets hammered down on him like white-hot needles it began to warm to an almost scorching degree. He scrubbed violently at his skin, scraping it raw. The knuckles on his right hand were webbed with dried blood from the punch he had thrown at Castiel. The dissolving red-brown threw Dean, unwilling, back into his memories and he slumped down onto the cold, cramped floor of the shower.

The first emotion he felt was horror. The second was wracking guilt.

Dean felt like the lowest piece of scum on the face of the Earth. Castiel had helped him, _saved_ him, more times than Dean had bothered to count. This was how he repaid him. In his most vulnerable moment, when he'd most needed help and comfort, Dean had become furious, assaulted him and then...

Dean winced. He didn't want to think about it. But then he saw Castiel's face, streaked with tears and blood as he begged for Dean to stop, screaming his pleas at him.

 _Rape_.

The word sucked all the life out of Dean and he collapsed, boneless against the wall. The scalding water poured down on him still, doing nothing to clean him, and Dean's face contorted against a sob. He covered his face with his hands.

_What have I done?_

_Oh God, what have I done?_

He would never be able to make this right. This wasn't like the other times, when Dean had been all words, cruel and barbed as they had been. Dean could have _killed_ him; it could have happened so easily, with Castiel's struggling beneath him becoming weaker and weaker as he fought to surface for breath...

The image made him shudder. It was obvious now. He was uncontrollable – dangerous. He was poison.

He decided the only way he could make it even somewhat right was to cut himself out of Castiel's life. There would be no more amiable chatter at breakfast, no more board games, no more secret smiles and words whispered in private.

Dean had been the only person whom Castiel had trusted. He'd spoken only to him, touched only him. The memory of Castiel cradling his hand after his punishment with Naomi sent agonising tongues of flame over Dean's body. He had already broken Castiel, but Dean knew that this horrifying end to their relationship would devastate him. It wouldn't make anything right at all, Dean realised in defeat. He couldn't break off their friendship. It would destroy them both. The only good thing he could do now was try to apologise, now the haze of overpowering anger had lifted from his eyes.

Painfully, Dean clambered upright. He turned off the shower and stepped out, towelling his hair and tugging on his scrubs from the day before. They were stiff with dried sweat, and the memories that engulfed him with the clothes made Dean want to be sick. He opened the door, steam billowing out in front of him, and stepped back into the bedroom.

Castiel was still lying on the bed, looking as if he hadn't moved at all since Dean had left him. He didn't look at Dean as he approached the bed.

"You still here?" Dean asked, subdued. No answer came, and Dean breathed out a fractured sigh. "Cas, please. Please talk to – no. I'm sorry. I have no right to ask you anything, I..." He gulped. "What I did was...evil. I'm a monster, Cas, and I'm so, _so_ sorry. I can't even try and put it into words. You were so vulnerable, and I just –" He broke off, bile rising in his throat. "I'm not going to ask you to forgive me. _I_ can't forgive me, let alone you. But please, just believe me: I could not be more sorry for what I did to you, and I'll do whatever it takes to try and make up for it."

Castiel stayed silent, and Dean felt hot tears drip down his cheeks. "Why would you stay here? After what I did?" he asked hoarsely. He'd thought Castiel might have stayed to hear him out, to talk, but he had evidently been mistaken.

"I can't move," came Castiel's voice, flat and emotionless as its owner stared up at the cracked ceiling. "I tried to get up, but it hurts too much."

Dean was drowning in guilt and shame and self-disgust. "God," he choked. " _Shit_. You can stay here, until you're able to walk," Dean promised, desperate to redeem himself. "I'll sleep on the floor, or...no, I'll sleep in your room, there's no way you want me around. _I_ don't want me around."

Castiel didn't seem to hear him. "I thought I wanted it," he said, voice still wooden, and he wasn't talking about Dean's company. "I saw you with Lisa, and you said it made one forget. I so wanted to forget. I wanted to know I belonged."

Dean shook his head, pain setting his ears ringing in a way that was horrifyingly far from the buzzing that was so loud it made him unable to think. What he would have given for it in that moment.

"All the books say it's a demonstration of love," Castiel continued. "I believe I wanted to feel such love. Or perhaps I just wanted the assurance that someone cared for me, wanted to be with me." His face remained motionless, but his eyes became heavy. "You were right," he told Dean. "Who _would_ want to be with me? Look at me."

Dean couldn't take it any longer. "Shut up!" he cried, voice ragged. "Please shut _up_ , that's not _true_!"

Castiel finally looked at him, and his gaze was empty, defeated. "Isn't it? What happened last night was not love. It wasn't even close."

Dean shook his head. "No, no it wasn't. But you have to understand, Cas, that wasn't me! I'm not making excuses, nothing like that, but me, the _real_ me...I do care about you Cas, don't you ever doubt it. You know I care about you, right? That I'd do anything for you?"

Castiel dropped his gaze. "I thought I did once," he said. "Now I am not so sure."

His stomach cramped and Dean collapsed on the mattress next to Castiel's prone form, the whine of pain Castiel bit out at the jostling clawing at his heart. He cupped Castiel's cheek tenderly with his hand, gently tilting his head until the man was forced to look at him.

"I do care about you," he vowed. "I would do anything for you. I hate myself for what I did more than you ever will."

Castiel's eyes narrowed in the excruciatingly familiar squint that for Dean embodied the very essence of his steady, innocent friend. "I don't hate you, Dean. I don't think I will ever be capable of that."

"Then _please_ listen to me," Dean begged, caressing his temple with his other, trembling hand. "I would kill myself before ever doing that again, before _thinking_ about doing it again..." He inhaled brokenly and expelled the useless air in a heartbroken sob. "Please, I –" he tried again, voice cracking and breaking off.

Closing his eyes and forcing himself to regain his calm, Dean relaxed every muscle in his body deliberately, one by one. When it was done, he opened his eyes, Castiel's searing blue gaze trapping him, their eyes connected as if by an invisible, unbreakable force.

Slowly, almost painfully so, Dean trailed his left hand down Castiel's cheek until his face was framed by Dean's hands in a hold so gentle it was barely there. Haltingly, Dean leaned forward, centimetre by centimetre, eyes never leaving Castiel's. When their lips were only separated by mere inches, Dean stopped, allowing Castiel time to push him away if he wanted.

"I care about you more than anything now," he whispered, pained. "I'll prove it. I swear I will."

Castiel only gazed up at him, lips parted and eyes thawing despite the guarded look that remained in his gaze. Dean stared at him a moment longer before he closed his eyes and softly brushed Castiel's lips with his own. Castiel inhaled shakily, lips trembling, and Dean froze. They stayed like that for a few tense seconds, and then Castiel moved. Timidly, almost fearfully, he pressed his lips against Dean's, releasing a tiny sigh as Dean caught his lips between his own and returned the kiss that was so light it was barely more than a brush of skin. Dean allowed Castiel to take the lead, knowing he would feel infinitely more comfortable in control, and they worked their mouths against each other for a long minute, the chasteness of the kiss gradually dissolving as they parted their lips and soft, dry hesitation became warm, slick tenderness. Castiel raised a hand and buried his fingers in Dean's short hair, pressing them together more firmly. Dean gasped against Castiel's mouth then, the intake of air drawing the heat out of it momentarily. Dean could taste Castiel on his tongue, underneath the faint tang of rust and the stale blanket of restless sleep. The taste sent a thrill through him; it matched his scent perfectly, and while Dean still doubted he could be attracted to Castiel romantically, there was no uncertainty in his mind that he could happily and enthusiastically kiss him for the next eternity. It wasn't love; Dean knew that. But their irrefutable co-dependency and unbreakable bond brought them close enough.

Hesitantly, unsure whether Castiel would feel comfortable with such intimacy after the events of last night, Dean traced his lower lip with his tongue, gathering even more of that unique taste. Castiel stiffened slightly and Dean immediately retreated, attempting to pull back from the kiss entirely. Castiel held him gently in place with the hand entwined in Dean's hair.

"Don't stop," he whispered. "I'm merely unused to this."

Dean didn't ponder the implications of his words before he sealed their mouths together once more, his relief and eagerness lending more passion to their second kiss. Castiel reciprocated thirstily, a tiny noise escaping his mouth that sent a bolt of electricity down Dean's spine.

The door opened.

" _Holy_ –"

Dean and Castiel broke apart with a jerk as Crowley stumbled backwards in surprise, only just catching himself on the door. The two swung dangerously, but Crowley thankfully regained his footing, along with most of his composure, though he still clutched the door handle tighter than necessary.

"Not that I'm at all against whatever the hell's going on between you two," he said, "but do you mind giving a man some bloody warning?"

Dean scowled at him in a decidedly unfriendly manner. "Maybe you should try knocking," he suggested.

Crowley paused, realised he had a point and shrugged. "You two weren't at breakfast, so I decided to come and find you," he justified. His eyes flicked to Castiel's face, which was bruised and bloody. Dean could not express his gratitude enough when Crowley did not comment.

Dean cleared his throat, licking his lips. "Why are you so desperate to find us?"

Crowley's gaze darted to the corridor behind him, then, and he warily shut the door. "It's a bit of a sensitive matter," he admitted.

Suspicious, Dean sat up straighter, fingers tensing against the blankets. "What kind of sensitive?" he asked.

"I-could-get-fired sensitive," Crowley said with a toothy, savage smile. "Or I at least _hope_ I would get fired. The other option seems to be slightly more unfortunate."

Dean felt cold hope trickle slowly into him. He tried to ignore it. "What is it?" he asked.

Crowley produced his phone and started fiddling, tapping the screen in a brisk and efficient manner despite the slight shaking of his fingers. "It seems when anything odd's going on, you two are always right in the middle of it," he started, addressing his phone. "So," he said, looking up, "I was wondering if you could inform me as to why exactly I have a picture of Short Round here in a doctor's coat." He extended his phone.

Dean leaned forward to look more closely. It was a snapshot of Kevin, relaxed and happy, reclined in an armchair as he smiled in amusement at the camera. The badge on his lapel clearly read:

Kevin Tran  
Junior Doctor

Crowley sniffed and slipped his phone back into his pocket. "I was browsing through old photos and came across this gem. Why don't I remember this?" he asked relatively calmly. "And more to the point, how the _hell_ is this possible?"

Dean bit his lip. "I'm going to sound crazy," he said.

Crowley looked at him in exasperation. "Seriously? I just showed you _that_ , and you're worried that _you'll_ appear crazy? That's a good bloody joke. Do you know anything about this?" he snapped, tapping his foot impatiently.

Dean stared at the floor. "Kevin was our group leader," he said.

"...Naomi takes your group. She always has done." Crowley looked hesitant and more uncomfortable than Dean had ever seen him. He would have enjoyed the moment, in any other context.

"He was our group leader," Dean insisted. "They put him in charge of the non-volatile ones because he was still technically in training."

"Now that's interesting," Crowley commented, "because as far as I can tell..." His eyes flicked over to Castiel, who glared back at him. "...you are very volatile indeed."

"So why do you reckon I was put into Group 1?" Dean asked.

Crowley frowned. "You weren't very violent when you came."

"No, I wasn't. But there's another reason," Dean said grimly. "Think about it. Kevin was the only group leader who wasn't a Balt. He was the only one that would ever have helped me and Cas."

"Helped you to do what? And I'm still not entirely sure about this group leader story; surely I'd remember if it hadn't always been Naomi."

"What reason would I have for lying?" Dean pointed out. " _No one_ remembers Kevin, except me and Cas."

Crowley looked to Castiel. "You remember this, Angel?" he asked.

Castiel nodded. "He gave us gifts when he left," he said quietly. "I got a book, Dean got a ring, Charlie got a phone and Chuck got a notebook."

Crowley blinked. "Wait, surely if the others got something as well, they'd remember too."

Dean shrugged. "Apparently not. Not even Kevin himself remembered. They deliberately made sure it was just me and Cas."

"By 'they', I assume you are referring to the Balts. So you're saying this is a deliberate act." Crowley inhaled deeply. "Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the chair. Dean shrugged and Crowley sat. "What I'm gathering from this story so far is that Kevin Tran was a doctor here, he helped you two with something and now he's suddenly a patient, with no memories or people who remember him. Apart from you two."

"And Naomi and Raphael," Dean said. "Hell, I'd bet anything every single one of the Balts is in on it."

"In on what?"

Dean sighed tiredly. "I guess we'd better start from the beginning."

They told Crowley everything. It took an hour and a half. Dean told him about his punishment at the hands of Naomi, and the things he had seen there. He told him about the ever-growing noise that had led to his seizure, the noise that had stopped when Naomi had finally let him remember. He told him about their gradual uncovering of the true nature of Balt's, and how Alfie and Kevin had helped with it. He said nothing about Sam, and he said nothing about the creeping worry that dropping the barriers holding his memories had let insanity re-invade as well. Crowley listened attentively, asking a few questions but for the most part remaining silent. He seemed shocked when Dean told him Naomi had admitted outright that the Balts were not human, and horrified when he'd explained Alfie's fate.

"You're telling me he was _murdered_?!" he spluttered, eyes wide.

Dean nodded grimly. "Kevin said his eyes were burned out, but I don't think he looked much further."

Crowley winced, scrubbing a hand over his stubble. "Bugger," he commented eloquently. "This doesn't put me in a great position, then, does it?"

"You'll help us, though, right?" Dean's voice was urgent, almost demanding.

Crowley hesitated, and Dean felt his stomach sink. "I'm not sure, George," he said slowly. "It's one thing to make excuses for you when you're in the infirmary without a reason, but something completely other to help you escape the hospital, which I'm assuming is what you're trying to do."

Dean's brow creased. He hadn't really thought of it as definitively as that. Balt's had always seemed so final to him; the end of the line. But, in the end, Dean supposed Crowley was right. He did want to get out, and he wanted to take the rest of the patients with him, even the newly ever level-tempered and hollow Gordon.

"Not to mention," Crowley continued, running a hand through his sparse hair, "the apparent punishment for such activities. If Baby Face was their brother, not to mention some kind of unthinkably powerful Not-Human, I'd really hate to imagine what they could do to me."

"Kevin was human and he wasn't technically hurt," Dean pointed out.

Crowley levelled a glare at him. "Frankly, I'd rather die than end up like that poor shell of a kid. So. Sorry, boys, but I'm afraid you're in this on your own." He stood up to leave.

"Wait!" Castiel cried, trying to sit up but falling back onto the pillow with a groan.

His exclamation had the desired effect. Crowley stopped and turned, uncharacteristically obvious concern shadowing his face. "Are you alright, Angel?"

"I'm fine," Castiel gritted out through the throbbing pain.

Crowley scowled accusingly at Dean. "What did you do to him, George? Or do I not want to know?"

Dean glared back at him, though the intensity of his glower was diluted with guilt. "He'll need some painkillers," he said, defiant but shamefaced. They both ignored Castiel's protests.

"I'll fetch some, then," Crowley sighed, turning once more for the door.

"No, you can't go!" Castiel cried again, this time making no attempt to move.

Crowley wheeled around again, marching back to the chair and sitting pointedly back down, crossing his arms. "Alright, then. Why may I not leave, Thursday?"

Castiel paused. "I was summoned to Raphael's office yesterday," he said finally.

They both looked at him, Crowley alarmed and Dean expectant. Castiel avoided Dean's eyes, looking instead at the doctor. He had to convince him to help them, Castiel thought urgently. He had to.

"This isn't just about Dean and I," he explained. "It involves you, too. It involves everyone." He bit his lip. "Raphael told me about the experiment they're conducting here."

"What did he tell you?" Dean asked, and Castiel's eyes fixed on his.

"He said we were mistaken in thinking you were the subject."

Confusion clouded Dean's eyes before it was chased away by cold, sharp fear. "It's about you."

Castiel nodded, a little embarrassed that Dean had caught on so much quicker than he had himself. He cleared his throat quietly. "I'm not sure whether to believe him," he said. "He would have every reason to lie, after all. But the things he said had a...weight to them. It _felt_ like the truth."

"Well, as long as your instincts are sure," Crowley said, sarcasm chewing through every word. "What else did he say? So far I'm not really seeing how some obscure and morally dubious experiment concerns me."

Castiel's face had drained somewhat of colour. He hesitated, glancing nervously at Dean.

"No one's going to push you away, Cas," the man assured him, seemingly casual. Castiel could feel the stronger, meaningful undercurrent to his words.

He took a deep breath. "Raphael said I was one of them."

"One of who?" Crowley looked impatient as he picked incessantly at his coat sleeves. "Please, Angel, _do_ be more specific."

"One of the Balts."

There was a brief silence before Dean scoffed. "Well, that's just bull. You're nothing like them, Cas. They're some kind of freaky monster with magical powers or whatever the fuck they have. You're... _you_. Human. Normal."

"Relatively," Crowley chipped in uninvited.

"But still normal," Dean insisted. "There's absolutely no connection between you and them."

"That's not all, though," Castiel said glumly.

Crowley closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Here comes the really worrying part. I can just _smell_ it."

Castiel cleared his throat quietly. "Raphael told me that I was made human as a punishment. The entire hospital is apparently a stage for it. He didn't say what I'd supposedly done, but he did say what the punishment was going to be."

"Going to be?" Dean prompted reluctantly.

"It was going to be you," Castiel admitted softly, barely audible. "They were going to incubate some sort dependant relationship between us and then..." he trailed off, face losing all the colour it had so far retained.

"Spit it out," Dean croaked.

"'Break you', he said."

The room held its breath.

"Well," Crowley said finally. Sweat was beading on his forehead. "That really is worrying. For George, anyhow. Again, though: I'm not hearing my name in any of this." He fidgeted nervously, his movements belying the calm his voice exuded.

Castiel hurried on. "That was _going_ to be the plan," he reminded them, "but it fell through. Apparently Dean was stronger than they expected." He glanced at his friend, gauging his reaction. Dean had a small, wan smile gracing his lips, and Castiel's breath came slightly easier. Dean took pride in besting the Balts, and Castiel needed him as proud and as strong as possible.

"So what's their new plan?" Dean asked, subtly stroking Castiel's shin through the blankets, an action revealed to be not quite as subtle as planned when Crowley rolled his eyes and huffed loudly in exasperation.

"The new plan..." Castiel hesitated. "...doesn't seem to exist. He merely said that I've 'repented enough' and that I can 'go back home' soon."

"And where is 'home'?" Crowley asked him, interest piqued.

Castiel shrugged. "He did not say and I did not wish to ask."

Crowley groaned. "You see, Angel, _this_ is your problem: a complete disregard of curiosity!"

In contrast to Crowley's hot frustration, Dean was coolly wary. "If Balt's is only supposed to be a stage for this punishment crap he was going on about," he said slowly, "then what happens when it's over?"

Castiel stared hard at the blanket.

"I suppose this is where I come in," Crowley sighed. "Oh, come on, regale us. I couldn't possibly keep all my hair after this anyway."

Castiel swallowed. "The establishment will be destroyed," he mumbled.

"Lovely," Crowley commented. "I must say, Thursday, you are a very convincing speaker when you decide to open that lovely mouth of yours. I'll help you," he stated, looking very unhappy, "but for no sake other than my own."

"We wouldn't expect anything else," Castiel assured him.

Dean snorted. "I dunno about you, Cas, but it'd sure be nice for me if we could trust this guy to not stab us in the back if the Balts offer him a sweeter deal."

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Question my motives if you will," he said, affronted, "but never my integrity. And besides, so far the Balts are offering me a sure and painful death, while you two offer an indulgence for my slight pyromania and freedom from the tedious job that has been boring my toenails off for the best part of a decade. There's really not much risk of betrayal, rest assured."

Castiel looked at him warily. "Where does an indulgence for pyromania come into it?"

Crowley smiled, looking mildly evil. "Well, if they're going to raze this place to the ground, I want to get there first. It would be pleasant to see some of my colleagues go up in flames, I won't deny."

Dean looked horrified. "Hey, we're not burning anyone!"

Crowley raised his eyes heavenwards. "Really, George? And what did you think the Balts were going to do to you?"

"The Balts aren't anyone," Dean said. "The Balts aren't people."

Castiel winced slightly at that, remembering Raphael's words. Dean had said he would not turn away from Castiel, but so far he had refused to believe he was a Balt. What would the man do, Castiel wondered, if his doubts were disproved?

"I'm talking about innocents," Dean was spitting vehemently. "Not just the patients, either. What about Ellen, or the cleaning staff, or the kitchen workers?"

Crowley succumbed. "Very well, we'll try and keep collateral to a minimum, then. But I'm not taking any chances with this," he told them, eyes steely. "You two can be as soft-hearted as you like, but at the end of the game, I'm leaving this place, with or without you."

"It's a little early to be planning escapes, is it not?" Castiel piped up. "We don't yet know what we are facing."

"Tell you what," Crowley said, business-like, "I'll try and figure that part out. You lot don't exactly have research materials at your fingertips, after all."

"Research?" Dean sputtered, dumbfounded. "What the hell would we need to do research for?"

"Know thine enemy?" Crowley suggested, voice dripping with irony. "Humans have a lot of myths and legends; maybe some of them hold true. We can't go into this blind."

"So what, you're gonna read fairytales until you find something involving memory loss and burnt-out eyes?"

"If I have to. But it hopefully won't come to that. There are far more productive means of research."

Dean sighed. "Oh, do whatever. As long as I don't have anything to do with it."

Crowley looked sightly put out. "You know, George, for someone who desperately needs my help, you're being awfully rude."

Dean glared at him. "I don't need your help," he grumbled.

Crowley released a bark of laughter. "Don't be soft," he hissed scornfully. "You need me. I need you. Miserable, isn't it? Unfortunately, choice doesn't come into the matter." He stood. "I'll start sniffing about. You two: do nothing. Keep your noses down. Stay out of trouble. Don't moan too loudly during copulation. I'll see you wastes of space tomorrow."

With that, he sauntered out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

"We do need him," Castiel said quietly as the echoes of the slamming door faded away.

"Oh, Jesus, let's not talk about him," Dean moaned, twisting to look at him. "He'd better come back with those painkillers. We're gonna get you under a hot shower; a bath would be better, but..."

Castiel sighed. "No bathtubs due to suicide risk," he finished wearily. "But Dean: I don't want to move."

"Why not? A shower'll loosen up your muscles, you'll feel better."

"Before my muscles are loosened, I have to use them to walk to the bathroom," Castiel reminded him. "It _hurts_."

That brought the guilty look back onto Dean's face, and Castiel felt his heart clench even as spiteful gladness touched it. It was confusing: on one hand, he wanted Dean to suffer as much as (if not more than) Castiel had himself. On the other hand, Castiel wouldn't want to see Dean hurt for the world.

"I could carry you," Dean offered.

Castiel almost laughed. "No, you couldn't."

The corners of Dean's mouth quirked upwards, but he still looked unimaginably sad. Castiel reached up to touch his face.

"We could just stay here," he suggested, voice soft. "For hours. Days, maybe."

"I've seen you when you're hungry; I'm not spending days locked inside a room with that," Dean quipped. The humour didn't reach his eyes.

Castiel curled his fingers into Dean's hair and pulled him nearer, Dean's back bowing as their faces neared each other.

"Please stop hating yourself," he begged.

"How can I?" Dean asked. "Look at you. I've ruined you."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "No one will ever have the pleasure of ruining me. Not even you." He tugged Dean down and captured his lips, relishing the feeling as his stomach melted into a warm pool beneath him.

Dean made a noise of protest and pulled away, disentangling Castiel's hand from his hair.

Castiel frowned. "What is it?"

Dean looked pained. "This would never work," he whispered. "I can't trust myself."

"I trust you," Castiel hissed, digging his fingers into Dean's shoulder. "And you said you'd rather die than do it again."

"Let's not tempt fate. I'm not good for you, Cas."

Castiel glared at him. "Cold feet are not allowed," he stated. "You were fine with this a few hours ago."

"It's not cold feet!" Dean protested. "It's a moment of clarity! A few hours ago I wasn't thinking straight. You'd never feel comfortable with me, not after what I did. You'd constantly be terrified of making me angry – it'd be the most unhealthy relationship in the entire fucking _world_! I can't stop the anger, Cas, no matter how much I try. I'm scared of it. When Naomi gave me back my memories...I think she gave the insanity back too." His voice became ragged towards the end, his shoulders sagging in exhaustion.

"Raphael did say something of the like," Castiel admitted. "He also said it would make our relationship – whether it were friendship or whatever else – impossible. I refuse to allow him to be proven correct. And I am only hearing you telling me what I would feel," Castiel continued, voice softening. "You may know me better than any other man, Dean Winchester, but you do not know me as well as you assume." He gripped Dean's face tightly in his hands. "I would fall without you," he said. It sounded like a vow. "I need you, Dean. Don't leave me behind just because you are frightened."

He kissed him again, and this time Dean leaned into him sighing into his mouth.

"I can't love you," Dean choked out against his lips.

Castiel closed his eyes against the sting. "I know," he said. "But I believe I can love you. Can that be enough?"

Dean nodded fervently and sealed their mouths together once more. Castiel was comforted by the kiss, and he knew this was what a kiss was supposed to be: a promise for eternity, whatever that might entail.

A loud knock at the door made the pair jump, their foreheads jarring painfully, teeth ringing.

"I brought the meds," they heard Crowley call from behind the door. A small sheet of pills flew through the gap underneath, skidding noisily until it skittered into the chair leg. "Two every four hours, and I'm prescribing bed rest. Emphasis on the _rest_ ," were Crowley's words of farewell before his steps echoed away on the hard wooden floor of the corridor.

Dean huffed in irritation, snatching up the painkillers. "Sometimes I hate that guy," he muttered grumpily, popping a couple of pills and laying them next to the lamp as he went to fetch a cup of water.

"He's kind," Castiel said as Dean returned.

Dean looked dubious. "You sure about that?"

"Kind enough to help us."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Only because his own ass was on the line too. You see too much good in people, Cas."

Castiel looked at him. "And if I saw nothing but bad, what would I turn into?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "A Balt, probably."

Castiel said nothing and took the water, gratefully gulping down the tablets when Dean helped him to sit up. Dean watched him in discomfort.

"Sorry again," he apologised. "I have no idea how I'm going to make it up to you."

Castiel sighed. "Stop mentioning it. I'd really rather forget."

Dean nodded morosely. "So would I. Come on, let's get you cleaned up anyhow."

Castiel looked horrified. "Crowley prescribed bed rest," he protested.

"I'm sure sitting on a shower floor counts as rest," Dean said, standing up and gripping Castiel tightly under the arms. "You ready?" he asked.

Castiel shook his head vigorously and Dean heaved him into a sitting position. Surprised at the unexpectedly small amount of pain, Castiel sat motionless for a while, wondering where the hot needles shooting up his spine had gone. Then Dean pulled him out of the bed and they returned. Groaning, Castiel was forced to lean heavily on his friend, who supported him steadily, if gracelessly. Castiel felt like a heavily bruised sack of potatoes as Dean slowly walked him to the bathroom. Sitting down against the wall of the still-damp shower was agony, but it subsided as Castiel leaned his head back and breathed deeply, willing away the spinning that came with the sudden end of a long period in a horizontal state.

"I hope those painkillers start kicking in soon," Dean said, looking concerned as he unbuttoned Castiel's shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. He threw it behind him and turned the shower on, spluttering in surprise when he was blasted directly in the face with the water jet.

Castiel (who had barely been dripped on) smirked as Dean hurriedly slammed the water off and wiped his face, hair streaming water. Dean saw his expression and glared accusingly at him.

"Oi, don't laugh," he said, affronted. "This'll be you in a minute."

"I'm not dressed," Castiel pointed out. "I won't look half as ridiculous."

Dean, whose wet scrubs now seemed to be at leave five sizes too large for him, glared some more. "There are clean ones outside. Now close your eyes," he ordered as he detached the shower head from its fitting and held it over Castiel.

Castiel obeyed and was promptly drenched with lukewarm water. It stung a bit when Dean cleaned the cuts on his face, wiping the blood from his nose and split lip, but Dean tried to be as gentle as possible, checking each and every one of Castiel bruises as he went.

"None of these look too bad," he commented. "Your nose isn't broken, either."

"I'll be fine," Castiel said.

"I know."

The rest of the shower was admittedly humiliating for Castiel, but he bore it well, gritting his teeth and not making one sound as Dean's fingers probed his thighs, examining the purple marks on his skin.

"Why did you do it?" he asked softly in a moment of accidental curiosity.

Dean froze, and Castiel immediately regretted his words, though he still strained to hear the answer that was nearly drowned out by the water. "I was horny and angry and you were there and I lost control," Dean said. "There's no other reason."

Castiel could sense Dean was about to apologise again and gripped his chin in his hand, tilting his head so Dean had no choice but to look at him. "Stop," he whispered. "I can't forgive you if you won't forgive yourself."

Dean's eyes softened and he nodded, pressing his lips against Castiel's as the hot water hammered forgotten against the shower wall.


	23. Chapter 23

Crowley sat at his desk, feverishly tapping his pen on the polished wood. He was staring intently at the paperwork in front of him, yet not seeing it at all; his mind was far away, occupied with much more important tasks, such as fretting over his newfound sticky situation. It was alarming, being flung from his familiar (if boring) routine into a world of fantastical nightmares and half-imagined shadows. Mostly, though, Crowley was worried about Dean.

The man had steadily become more and more unstable and unpredictable as the months crept by. His moods were erratic and extreme; his temper even more so. For the first time, Crowley could see, really see, why Dean had been sent to Balt's. His deteriorating state was difficult for Crowley in a professional sense as well: Dean's condition screamed for medical help and treatment, but the man was proud. He would never succumb to any mental probing or extra medication, and now light had been shed on the true nature of his superiors, Crowley couldn't very well confide in them about his worries for Dean's mental health.

It was not only Dean that occupied Crowley's haggard mind, however. Castiel, too, was in danger, though not from within. He had always been closest to Dean, always the person to get the brunt of the fall-out. Crowley had already seen a glimpse of what that could mean the previous morning; Castiel's bruised and bloody face still swam in his mind, raising his stress levels just beyond those which could be deemed healthy. If Dean did ever snap – and the longer Crowley looked, the more likely that seemed – Castiel would be in enormous danger. And Crowley knew the man; he wouldn't run or fight back – wouldn't try to protect himself at all.

Crowley grimaced. It was a sticky situation indeed, and one that he was very ill-equipped to deal with. And that was even disregarding the other problem, the fantastical one. Crowley wondered absently about the truth of Raphael's words, when he'd told Castiel the man was not human. The overseer of Balt's was hardly known for his honesty, and Castiel (though odd) just seemed extremely _human_ in his own fragile, defiant way. The doctor could see in him no clues whatsoever that could have led to a conclusion on what the Balts were. Though, Crowley thought, sifting through Castiel's words from the day before, the man had told him he was apparently only temporarily human, if he had not been so all along. If Crowley was going to attempt to unravel the web surrounding the Balts, he would have to look at them directly.

Abandoning all pretences of doing paperwork, Crowley shoved the reports into an unoccupied drawer, unlocking his laptop with a brisk swipe over the fingerprint reader. As he waited for the internet to fire up, he realised he had less than no idea where to start. He groaned quietly when he realised Dean's barb about fairytales might actually have to come to pass.

Crowley shuddered and shook the unwanted thought from his head. He refused to let the little punk one-up him on this one. Tapping a few generic words into Google, he waited impatiently as the decrepit wi-fi kicked in and started grinding away. He scrolled down slowly before clicking on a promising looking link:

_A-Z Encyclopaedia of the Supernatural: all the creatures you know, think you know and will wish you'd never read about._

Rolling his eyes at the terrible web design, Crowley began to read. The site really did read like an encyclopaedia, discussing the finer point of vampires, werewolves and demons as seriously as if they were rare branches of the order Hyracoidea. Crowley felt ridiculous: a man of science, browsing through articles on things that went boo in the dark? He briefly considered whether this was an elaborate prank courtesy of Winchester & Co., before he remembered there was no possible way they could have faked the photo on his phone.

He clicked his way to a complete list of creatures and scrolled his way leisurely down before a word caught his eye.

Crowley blinked, stopped and hurriedly scrolled back up the few centimetres he'd overrun by. The word stared him right in the face. He clicked on the link and began to read.

Crowley sat frozen a few moments longer before he lurched upright, knocking his mug of tea to the floor, and raced out of the room.

* * *

Dean and Castiel were sitting in the rec room, chatting amiably with Garth (and, from time to time, Mr Fizzles) when Crowley approached them, looking harried.

"Hello, boys," he said in a strained voice. "Got a moment to spare, perchance?"

Dean heard the urgency in his tone and stood immediately, Castiel following suit. With a quick farewell to Garth, the pair walked with Crowley out of the rec room and towards the surgery, Crowley talking feverishly all the way.

"Can't believe we were so _blind_...staring us right in the face...practically laughable..."

The doctor marched over to his desk and span his laptop dramatically around.

" _Angel_ ," he breathed, staring Castiel right in the face.

Dean stuttered. "What –?" He didn't bother finishing the question before he bent to read the dusty screen, Castiel peering over his shoulder.

It looked like an entry on a web encyclopaedia, though it was nothing close to official if the layout was anything to go by. The title was in Comic Sans, bolded, and declared:

**Angels, Warriors of the Lord**

Dean looked at Crowley disbelievingly. "Really?" he asked, snide amusement staining his tone. "You think those dicks are _angels_? With fluffy wings, haloes, the lot?"

"Don't be daft," Crowley snapped back in irritation, "fluff doesn't come into this story anywhere. Castiel, the angel of Thursday. Naomi, the angel of Amity. Raphael, the archangel of Healing," he listed. "Don't you _see_? It all fits together!"

"The archangel of _healing_?" Dean sputtered. "Is this supposed to be a fucking _joke_?! Angels are supposed to be merciful!"

Crowley snorted. "Oh, George, do yourself a favour and read the bloody Bible. Keep reading the article."

Dean obeyed, still seething, though he knew there was no real reason for his anger. Castiel had laid a hand upon his shoulder and he took comfort from the gentle contact, the warmth radiating through his shirt.

Despite the warmth, though, Dean could feel himself growing colder and colder as he read on. The article talked a lot about an angel's 'true form' and how witnessing it with human eyes would result in blindness. It talked about how bright an angel's true form was, its aura that burnt with holy fire so hot it seared the retinas of anyone who even glimpsed it. Their voices, it said, were too high in pitch and intensity for men to truly hear: to the human ear, it was an unbearably loud, shrill buzz. Any being that was smote by an angel was incinerated from the inside out, and their eyes were burnt from their skulls.

Dean swallowed, once and again. "Holy shit," he croaked.

"And that's putting it lightly," Crowley agreed.

Dean turned to Castiel and was unsurprised by the panicky expression twisting his features.

"C'mon, Cas," he said gently. "You don't need to freak out. We're anything but sure that you're one of these...angels."

"We are?" Crowley asked disbelievingly. "How many coincidences are going to have to pop up to cure your blindness, huh, George? Exactly how much of a chance is there that some completely ordinary human called _Castiel_ would just pop up in this scenario?"

"You shut up," Dean snapped.

Castiel shook his head. "No. He's right." His voice was quiet, and slightly shakier than he would have liked to be. "There's no other explanation, for any of it. I don't remember life before Balt's, and I have never really connected with any of the other patients. Apart from you." He glanced at Dean with fearful eyes, awaiting his reaction with nervous anticipation.

Dean was quiet for a long while. Finally, he said, "I suppose there isn't an explanation." His voice was flat, and Castiel's hands twisted together in a position that must have been painful. Dean sighed, and reached out to reassure him. "Don't worry, Cas, I'm not mad. Tired, really. And you being an..." he paused, "...angel really doesn't matter. You're my friend, and you're nothing like the Balts."

"Well, he isn't _now_ ," Crowley chipped in. "What about when he gets his memories back?"

"I don't want my memories back," Castiel blurted. "I want to stay like this, I want to be human!" His eyes were becoming shiny.

"Well, if life were that simple, I'd be wishing on a star right now," Crowley said, the sarcasm losing its bluster a bit. "If you don't want to remember, get out before they can make you."

"How are we going to get out?"

"Ah, now, you see, Angel, _that_ is a very interesting question." Crowley's mouth curved into a shadow of a smirk. "It contains many other questions in it. How are we going to find a way out? How are we going to avoid the attention of the Balts until we do? Are we going to bother with the rest of them? If so, how are we going to manage that? But in the end, it all comes down to one simple question."

"What?" Dean asked impatiently.

Crowley's smirk grew. "How do you kill an angel?"

Dean scowled. "And how do we? _Can_ we, even?!"

"Of course we can," Crowley said simply. "Everything alive can be killed. It's just a matter of method and complication."

"And what does that mean?" Castiel asked, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Well, I assume the method is self-explanatory, once we find out what it is. The complication would be that I don't much fancy any of our chances one-on-one against a single Balt, never mind the whole lot of them."

"So what, we plan it so we can outnumber them?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. "Even if all the patients could fight, which they cannot, the staff outnumber us by a good deal, counting those who aren't Balts. Couple that with whatever powers they have and..." He didn't need to finish the sentence.

Dean blinked. "So that's it then, we're fucked?"

Crowley laughed at him, to Dean's annoyance. "That's always the problem with your type, George," he sniggered condescendingly.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It doesn't have to come to a fight," Crowley told him slowly.

Dean was nonplussed. "I thought you were all for murdering the lot of them."

Crowley's brow creased at his choice of words, but he shrugged it off. "Indeed I am. Murder, as you so sensitively put it, does not necessarily have to involve combat. Or, indeed, physical contact."

Dean and Castiel looked at him expectantly.

Crowley sighed. "My God, you two are slow. We can try and find a way to destroy them indirectly. Think about it: you want to kill a building full of humans, what do you do? You don't run around shooting them all, that's for sure."

"You blow up the building," Castiel said finally, dread heavy in his voice.

"Very good, Angel." Crowley grinned at him, mildly sadistically.

"You think dynamite will work?" Dean asked.

Crowley sighed. "And that would be more complications. I'm not sure, no. But we can find a way to work around the idea."

"How would we make sure no one else got hurt?"

Crowley tutted at Dean's heroics, which he evidently thought entirely unnecessary. "We get them out first, I suppose."

"How?" Dean demanded.

"Well, you can't expect me to think of everything!" Crowley protested. "I'll leave that up to you two. I don't give a rat's ass about the rest of them if it endangers me, despicable as that may sound. If you can't get them out, that's hard cheese." His face was stony. Dean didn't doubt the promise behind the words.

There was a brief, tense silence before Castiel spoke.

"And you will find out how we can destroy the Balts."

Crowley nodded. "As quickly as possible." He motioned towards the door. "Now get out, you've both been here far too long already. If they start getting suspicious, it's all over."

They left, the door swinging shut loudly behind them.

* * *

The plan was simple.

"Hey, Charlie, can we talk for a bit?" Dean asked as he approached her.

Charlie smiled up at him. "Sure," she chirped happily. "What's up?"

Dean glanced towards the orderlies. "Do you mind if we go to Room 79?" he asked quietly.

She frowned in confusion but shrugged. "Bit early for Group. Why?"

"I have something to tell you and Chuck."

She shot him an odd look. "Alright," she said slowly. "I'll go get him."

Dean waited impatiently, bouncing on the balls of his feet as she went to fetch the third member of their group. When they returned, he about-faced without a word and led them in the direction of Room 79.

Castiel was already there. Charlie regarded him and Dean with amusement. "So, what's all this about?" she asked. "Have you two finally hooked up or something?"

Dean scoffed, but his blasé farce was ruined as Castiel turned bright red.

"Oh my God," Charlie blurted, looking stunned. "You _have_?!"

Dean tutted. "That's not what we wanted to tell you."

"But this is _great_! Garth owes me –"

"Charlie." She fell silent, staring at Dean's stony face with wide eyes. "This is serious." There was a short silence, then Dean ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "We're going to sound even crazier than normal, but I need you two to hear us out, okay?"

They both nodded and Dean began. He told them everything he had told Crowley, and everything that had happened since then. He spared no details, apart from Sam.

When he had finished, Charlie cleared her throat and tried to hide her smile. "You think the Balts are... _angels_?" she asked, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

Dean ground his teeth in frustration. She didn't believe him. "Yeah," he said, "and we aren't imagining things, either! It's all way too much of a coincidence!"

She flashed him a disbelieving look and continued. "And you're saying _Castiel_ is one too." Charlie suddenly looked uncharacteristically worried as she glanced over to the chair where Castiel sat, fiddling with his trouser leg. Her eyes flashed back to his and Dean could see she was worried about him. Worried about what he was turning into, and what this would mean for Castiel's safety. "Dean..." she began, looking pained.

"That's what they told him!" Dean blurted, knowing how defensive he sounded. "He believes it too, I swear!"

Charlie shook her head, backing away almost imperceptibly. "I think you might be getting a bit carried away..." she said slowly.

Dean almost screamed. Castiel was about to interrupt, opening his mouth to tell Charlie the truth, but was beaten to it by Chuck. "No...I think he's right," the quiet man said nervously.

Charlie turned to him, face incredulous. "Chuck?" She looked almost betrayed.

"I...dreamt something about this," Chuck stammered, staring hard at the floor. "There was a blinding light and a –"

"A really high-pitched buzzing that made you want to claw your ears off, am I right?" Dean interrupted hurriedly.

Chuck nodded. "Yes, a buzz, and Castiel..." he trailed off, wincing.

"Castiel what?" Charlie prompted.

Chuck swallowed. "Sprouted wings. They tore through his back and –" He broke off, pale and breathing heavily. "It wasn't a good dream," he finished lamely.

Castiel had gone mildly pale by this point as well, but Dean didn't have time to reassure him before Charlie opened her mouth.

"So you believe this because you had a vague dream?" she said to Chuck, evidently still dubious.

Chuck shook his head. It almost looked like a spasm. "I...I've never told anyone before. I've even managed to keep it from the staff, but sometimes...sometimes my dreams come true." He winced again at that, as if hearing for the first time how fantastical it sounded.

"What?" Dean and Charlie said simultaneously.

Looking uncomfortable, Chuck explained. "Only in a metaphorical sense, usually. The –" he gulped. "The night before Meg died, I...dreamt she was swimming in a sea of blood...drowning. And then..." Chuck swallowed, uncomfortable with the memory to the extreme.

Charlie was uneasy as well. "I dunno...it all seems so far-fetched, especially the part about Kevin. I clearly remember nicking that phone and notebook out of a doctor's coat, every single detail! And apart from that, he just doesn't seem the doctor type."

"He used to be," Dean told her seriously. "Charlie, you have to believe us; they're going to kill us all! We have to get out of here." Every word was laden with truth until the words were so heavy they were almost palpable.

Charlie sighed. "Well, I'm all in for escaping," she said. "The stuff going on in this place just seems to get creepier by the second."

"So you'll help us?" Dean asked, a little desperately.

Charlie nodded, face completely solemn for the first time Dean could remember.

Castiel stood. "Thank you," he said.

* * *

Naomi had entered a few minutes after that, feigning surprise at seeing them all so early. Group had continued as normal, with the usual amount of baiting on Naomi's part and a customary amount of silence on the patients'. Nevertheless, Dean could not shake the feeling that she _knew_. It sent shivers down his spine.

Finally, though, Group was over, and they filed silently out of Room 79.

Dean caught Charlie by the arm just as they rounded the corner.

"Hey," he whispered in her ear. "Can you try and convince the others too? Be subtle about it."

She nodded and walked off.

Dean turned to wait for Castiel, who smiled softly at him before turning to Chuck, who had just coughed to get his attention. Dean shuffled nearer the better to eavesdrop.

"Castiel," Chuck said, the words tripping over themselves in their haste. "There's...something I didn't get a chance to say, before."

Castiel shot him a questioning look, tilting his head to the side.

Chuck dropped his eyes. "In the dream, with you and the wings...I saw fire too. The whole world was on fire."


	24. Chapter 24

By the time a week had passed, Dean, Castiel, Charlie and Chuck had spread the word of the escape throughout the patient population. They had decided not to try and explain the exact reasons behind it, namely the true nature of the Balts: that would only lead to suspicion and panic, neither of which they wanted. The vast majority of the patients were ecstatic at the news. Balt's had developed a different atmosphere to the one previous, and they all could feel the mists of dread and danger descending upon them. It went almost without saying that the information relayed was done so under top secrecy, with strict instructions to hide it from the staff. As Crowley had said: once the Balts became suspicious, it was all over. The plan was taking shape, and Dean's innards were trembling with tension and excitement.

Dean and Castiel were eating lunch (tomato soup and bread) in the corner of the canteen, staring out into the garden and chatting, when Lisa marched up to their table. They looked up at her in surprise, and Dean deflated slightly when he saw the stony fury chiselled into her face.

"What's up, Lisa?" he asked casually.

"Come with me," Lisa gritted out between her teeth, turning to stride away immediately after the words were out.

Dean looked back to Castiel. His face was troubled and he reached out for Dean's sleeve as if not really thinking.

Dean grimaced apologetically at him. "I have to go talk to her at least. This is the first time she's spoken to me in over a week, Cas, it has to be important."

Castiel did not look convinced.

Dean stood and traipsed over to where Lisa was standing, tapping her foot impatiently. She hadn't left the room, only gone to an empty corner where they wouldn't be overheard. They were still in plain view.

"I can't believe you!" Lisa hissed at him as soon as he was in earshot.

Dean was nonplussed. "Wait, what?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she squeaked.

Dean raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he enunciated slowly.

" _This_!" Lisa gestured wildly around the room. "This whole escape shit!"

"Hey, hey, keep your voice down!" Dean told her, casting a glance over his shoulder at the orderlies, who did not look interested in them in the slightest.

"Why should I?" Lisa demanded furiously. "There's no point! We're not going to get further than the foyer, and can you imagine what they'll do to us _then_?!" She was beginning to sound hysterical.

"Lisa..."

"Don't you 'Lisa' me, my best friend is _dead_ , which I don't have a hard time believing was something to do with you, and if we have it your way I will _never_ see my son again!"

Dean was flabbergasted. "Wha – you think I..." He couldn't finish the sentence. "I had _nothing_ to do with Meg's death! I would never, ever do anything like that! How can you say that?"

"I'm not saying you did it on purpose, but everything bad that's happened in here always seems to be traceable back to you and that _fucking Castiel_!"

Dean suddenly felt cold. "Don't you talk about him like that," he growled.

Lisa snorted derisively. "What? You don't like hearing your whores badmouthed? Welcome to the real world, Dean. Now leave the rest of us out of whatever fantasies you're having and have done with it. There won't be any stupid escape, and you will keep your ass out of trouble until the day you die. I am not risking my rights to see Ben on _you_. Do you hear me?"

Dean sighed. "Lisa, look. You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly; _you're_ the one who needs help, with your ridiculous, paranoid fantasies!"

"They're gonna _kill_ _us_ , Lisa!"

"Uh huh. Can you even hear yourself? Who told you that shit, I wonder? Castiel." Her voice was hard as steel.

Dean could see what she was implying as clearly as the first morning. "Cas ain't manipulating anybody, Lisa," he said, forcing himself to keep his calm.

"Oh, isn't he?"

"Look at him!" Dean gestured to where the man was sitting, watching them with wide, nervous eyes. "Does he really seem like the manipulative type to you?"

Lisa stared at him, incredulous. "You're joking, right? Why do you think he refuses to talk to anyone apart from you? Why do you think he avoids touching anyone but you? It's to manipulate you, Dean, you and the rest of us! He creates an image – a farce – and doesn't break it for a second, but as soon as you walk in, he's all over you! He wants you to be dependant upon him, Dean, can't you see? He wants you all for himself, wants you to do whatever he hints to you about. He's planted this seed in your mind and now it's growing out of control and destroying your sanity as it goes! Are you _blind_?!"

Dean felt as if he were carved from ice as he looked at the woman he'd thought he once loved. He barely recognised her. "I can see just fine," he said. "Cas isn't the one who's trying to manipulate me. _You're_ paranoid, just listen to yourself! The escape's happening," he told her. "And if you don't run, you'll burn."

He stormed away.

Castiel found him minutes later in his room, sitting on his bed and staring a hole in the floor. Castiel padded towards him hurriedly, a panicky expression on his face.

"What did she say to you?" he asked desperately.

Dean shook his head wearily. "She – it doesn't matter. She's changed," he said hoarsely.

Castiel sat beside him and put an arm around Dean's shoulders. "We all have," he reminded him. "And Meg's death was extremely traumatic for her, you cannot expect her to be her old self."

Dean sighed heavily. "I know." He suddenly felt exhausted.

Castiel swallowed and gripped Dean's chin, turning his head so he was looking Castiel in the eyes. He leaned in slowly, his mouth hovering over Dean's, but stopped before any contact was made. Castiel had not yet quite got the hang of initiating a kiss. He always seemed somehow scared that Dean would push him away.

Dean didn't. He sealed their lips together and breathed Castiel in like a drowning man, arms winding around his waist and pulling him almost into his lap. He tasted like tomato soup.

* * *

Another week went by before Dean and Castiel were called to Crowley's infirmary.

"Boys," he greeted them. "I've got it."

They were sat across from the doctor, the desk in between them. Crowley was leaning over it almost to the point of toppling over in his excitement.

Dean shrugged, finding it hard to get worked up about the escape when it was the reason Lisa was shooting him poison dart glances in the halls.

"So what, then?" he asked dully. "How do we kill an angel?"

" _Fire_."

They blinked.

"Fire," Dean repeated, slowly waking up. "That's it?"

Crowley's face twisted wryly. "Not quite. I read in a very interesting online manuscript that angels can be trapped in a ring of fire fuelled by holy oil. And if they step over this fire..." A pause.

"They die," Castiel finished quietly.

"Exactly," said Crowley, looking pleased with himself.

"So we're going to set a giant ring of fire around the hospital?" Dean asked, a little sceptically.

Crowley scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, we'd be incinerated," he sneered. "I'm not intending to just trap them; the fire would have to go out eventually, and as far as I hear, immortal creatures are very good at waiting."

Dean was getting frustrated. "Get to the fucking point then, dammit!"

That got him a shake of the head and tut. "You shouldn't swear," Crowley informed him provokingly. "It makes you looks like a fucking idiot. I'm _suggesting_ I soak a room in the staff wing in oil and set it alight. The fire that spreads may be angel-deadly – it may not. But it _will_ cause a lot of panic when their immortal siblings are vapourised trying to put out a tiny house fire. While the confusion's raging, we all get out. _Then_ we set a giant ring of fire around the place."

Dean leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "That's a damn good plan," he admitted eventually.

Crowley smirked. "I know, but thank you."

Castiel was regarding the doctor with his intense blue stare. "We wouldn't have been able to do any of this without you," he said, voice stronger than usual when talking to others. The gratitude saturated every syllable.

Crowley met his gaze with sly, sharp eyes. "Oh, I know, Thursday," he said. "Though I am in a generous mood, so I can give you a ten-year extension to pay back the debt."

Dean grumbled and Castiel elbowed him. "We will never forget this," he promised gravely.

"That you won't," the doctor told him. "And I should bloody well hope not, either."

Tapping his foot irritably, Dean butted in. "So where can we get holy oil?" he asked.

Crowley shrugged. "Probably on the internet. If not, I happen to have an acquaintance in Jerusalem who owes me a favour. Leave it to me, George."

Dean nodded. "We will."

He did. Just over a week later, when Dean asked a passing orderly why Crowley was not in his surgery, he was informed that the doctor was taking the morning off to visit his mother. Dean knew for a fact that Crowley would never willingly visit his mother.

Sure enough, later that day when Castiel checked in to see whether he was back, Crowley was sitting behind his desk, filling out paperwork with a smug smile on his face that was not warranted by the mundane forms.

"I've got it," he said without looking up. "Nehemiah was a wonderful sport; raided the local temple with no questions asked." He raised his eyes to meet Castiel's. "Where's George?"

Castiel shut the door. "We decided it would be too suspicious to keep visiting you in pairs," he said.

"Good call," Crowley approved. "But from now on it'll be too dangerous to visit me at all. Neither of you are ill, and remember: if the Balts smell a rat, we're done. They'll smell a rat if I don't get this work done within the next hour. Go on, beat it and tell George the plan's go."

* * *

"That's what he said?" Dean scoffed disbelievingly. "I don't believe it, that guy's actually enjoying all this. Well, whatever." He shrugged. "As long as he gets us out, I'm not going to complain."

Castiel nodded absently, eyes devouring the familiar words of Kevin's book. His book, now.

"Are we going to take him with us?" Castiel asked after a moment, voice subdued.

Dean's eyes blinked open; he'd been dozing. "Hm? Take who?"

"Kevin."

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course," he said, surprised. "Why wouldn't we?"

"I am not sure he'd survive in the real world," Castiel admitted, putting down the book with a sigh.

Dean looked confused. "Well of course he wouldn't. But we're not just going to abandon him, Cas. We'll all go to the police, tell them some bullshit story about lobotomies or whatever and get psychologically reassessed. Some people, like Kevin or Gordon, will be put in a different hospital, and the rest will be rehabilitated."

Castiel scrutinised him. "You've thought about this."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, for a few nights now. It doesn't just end at the escape, and I'm not dumb enough to think any of us would be able to survive if we were thrown into the deep end of life head-first."

Castiel saw truth in his words. He leaned back in his chair and stared pensively up at the ceiling. "We could live together," he said, lips curving blissfully. "We could rent a flat and be normal together."

Castiel thought Dean's laughter may have sounded a bit false, but he couldn't be sure. "Yeah, we'd probably be renting motel rooms for a long time before we could afford a flat, but if it makes you happy..."

"It does," Castiel said. "The outside world has always scared me; I know nothing about it and it knows nothing about me. But if you were by my side, I don't think I would drown. You would keep me afloat." He met Dean's eyes and the man shivered.

"Dammit, Cas," he chuckled a bit breathlessly. "You're making it really damn hard to remember I'm straight."

Castiel rolled his eyes and got to his feet. "You are _not_ heterosexual," he told Dean as he sank to his knees before him.

* * *

Dean strode along the corridor, his heart clawing its way up his windpipe. Naomi had summoned him. It was Monday. One of the few nuggets of information Dean had gleaned from their weekly Wednesday sessions was that Naomi was a creature of habit, and didn't break routine unless there was a good reason.

_They know they know they know they know..._

His heart lodged itself in his throat, choking him.

He hadn't told Castiel about the summons, delivered by Hester in a bored tone as Dean stepped out of his room to dump his old clothes. He was sure Castiel had smelled a rat during the unusually silent breakfast, but the man hadn't said anything, for which Dean was thankful. There was no reason to make Castiel worry, and worry he would.

Naomi smiled benignly at him as he walked into her office, as if nothing was out of place.

"Mr Winchester," she greeted, "take a seat."

Dean sat, eyes roaming around the room like a trapped animal, desperately searching for a clue as to what this was about, why he was here, why _now_. He found nothing.

Naomi folded her hands primly on the desk. "I am sure you will be pleased to hear that I have decided you are now sufficiently integrated in this establishment," she said.

Dean blinked. He wondered if he had heard correctly, if she was playing some kind of cruel trick. But there was no trace of malicious intent on Naomi's mask of a face.

"Therefore," she continued, "we shall no longer need to have our weekly meetings. I have written a final report and Raphael has approved the request."

A hot tongue of joy curled in Dean's chest. He could scarcely believe his ears, but Naomi's words made him feel weightless, light enough to fly. It had been over a year since his sessions with Naomi had begun, countless weeks of her chipping away at him from the inside. And now it was over.

Or was it? The thought crept into Dean's mind unbidden, unwelcome and unfriendly.

_Why now?_

Why had she chosen – of all times – this very moment, when the hospital was in badly-concealed turmoil and restless whispers seeped into every wall? Surely the Balts had noticed. They were proud, yes, and arrogant. They were not stupid.

Dean finally nodded at Naomi and stood to leave, relief and dread mixing to form a sickly cocktail in his belly. He left the room.

* * *

He had gone straight to Castiel and it had taken the man a mere five minutes to find out what was bothering him. He appeared more calm than Dean had expected.

"They may be trying to disorientate you, put your accustomed schedule into disarray," he was saying, running a hand through his hair.

"Why would they do that, though?" Dean asked. The relief at the freedom had all but dissipated, and he was now left with an uncomfortable tight feeling in his chest.

Castiel shook his head. "I cannot be certain," he said, "but whatever their reasons, I am sure they are unsavoury."

Dean snorted humourlessly. Castiel was doing a wonderful job of soothing him. "Maybe she was telling the truth," he suggested plaintively. "Maybe she really thinks I'm integrated enough. It's not like either of us were getting much out of the meetings in the first place. She could have been being perfectly truthful."

"You and I both know you don't believe that, Dean," Castiel told him, not unsympathetically.

"No, but I'd like to."

* * *

Their fears were confirmed two days later.

"Dean Winchester?"

Dean looked up from the Monopoly board to see Hester looming over him, her trademark impersonal look fixed firmly over her face.

"Raphael wants to see you," she said, promptly turning and walking away once the message was delivered.

Dean turned back to his game opponents and met their confused gazes with one of his own. Charlie opened her mouth first.

"What the hell would he want with you?" she asked, letting the dice roll out of her hand.

Dean shook his head. "Who knows?" he said. "I doubt it's good, though."

"Do you think they've found out about..." Andy waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

Dean said nothing.

"Should I fetch Castiel?" Charlie asked, making to get out of her armchair.

Dean shook his head quickly. Castiel had chosen to go back to his room rather than play with them, for which Dean was now extremely grateful.

"I'll go now," he said quietly, hurriedly. "And then you can go tell him, if you like. I'm sure it's not anything big, probably about my meetings with Naomi. It's about the right time, after all."

They looked at him dubiously.

"If you say so, man," Andy relented, shrugging.

Garth was not so easily placated. "I dunno, Dean..." he said, face creasing. "This all seems mighty fishy to me."

"I'll be fine, Garth."

" _And what if you ain't, huh?_ " Mr Fizzles demanded. " _What if you don't come back?_ "

"Garth, shut _up_!" Charlie hissed, thumping his shoulder.

"It's not me!" Garth cried, wounded. "Mr Fizzles said it, not me! But still...what if we forget him, like Kevin? What if he comes back as staff or something?"

"Garth. Shut. _Up_." Charlie looked incensed, pale and tight-lipped as she was. Her words only made Garth more agitated, sweat beading on his brow as he gripped Dean's shirt with clammy hands and refused to let go.

Andy, for once, was more helpful. "Hey, cool it, man," he said calmly, gently prising Garth's fists open and slipping Mr Fizzles off his hand. "You two need to just calm down. If they were gonna erase Dean from the fabric of space and time, wouldn't they do it a little more subtly? Dean's been going off alone to Naomi's office for like a year now, and he's always come back just fine. Why should it be different now?"

"It's Raphael..." Garth whined agitatedly.

Andy shrugged. "And? We're not going to forget Dean, are we? Look, his piece is on the board right there. They can't take him away when the evidence's right there in front of us. So, all we have to do is sit here and wait and watch the board until he comes back. Right?"

Garth nodded shakily, calmer now. "Right."

Dean was amazed. Until then, all he had seen Andy as was an annoying nuisance that had somehow convinced everyone to like him. For the first time since his arrival, Dean saw Andy's understanding of each individual person, how much he knew about them – and how he could use it to help.

Not knowing what to say, he merely nodded and Andy and left the room.

While Andy's words had been successful on Garth, Dean found they could not soothe the roiling in his own stomach. What if they were going to kill him? Was he walking right into the electric chair?

And what if they weren't going to murder him, what then? Would he become a shell, like Kevin, with no memories or thoughts to speak of? Would they all forget him? Would their memories of him be morphed into falsities, leaving all his friends hating him for crimes he never committed? They'd never believe him then, if all they remembered of him was lies. They'd never follow him, never help him, and they would all be left in Balt's to rot or burn: whatever took the angels' fancy.

He wouldn't even have Castiel then, he would hate him just as much as the rest, if not more. The thought was a wire around Dean's heart, drawing tighter and tighter, cutting deeper with every twist of his imagination. But that was it, Dean reminded himself. His imagination was conjuring stories; it was by no means the truth. Raphael couldn't want anything good with him, no, but he might not want to destroy Dean just yet. This was a game to them, and it hadn't lost enough excitement to warrant stopping now.

Dean reached the door to the staff wing and pressed the button. Ellen's voice crackled through to him.

" _That you, Dean? I thought your meetings with Naomi had stopped._ "

"I'm here to see Raphael," Dean told her.

" _Do you have an appointment?_ "

"Well, he called me, so I'd be surprised if I didn't."

" _No need to be cheeky, young man._ "

The door buzzed open and Dean stepped through. It was not a long walk to Raphael's office, but Dean felt as if hours had passed by the time he reached the solid wooden door.

 _Raphael Balt_ , the sign read, _Senior Overseer_.

Not for the first time, Dean wondered what strings the elusive Michael Balt, owner of the hospital, was pulling.

He knocked.

"Come in," Raphael's deep voice rumbled.

Dean turned the handle and walked inside.

Raphael was seated at his desk, looking perfectly at ease. "Shut the door and sit," he said, commanding but not rude.

Dean obeyed, sliding the door into the jamb and perching on the chair opposite Raphael. The man's pitch eyes bored into his with an intensity that gave Dean a headache.

"You are not a stupid man, Dean Winchester," Raphael began. "I suppose you have guessed why I have summoned you."

"Enlighten me," Dean said guardedly.

That made Raphael smile. It was not a pleasant smile. "We know what you and Castiel are doing," he said. "We know everything. All about this little escape you are planning, all about the..." Raphael grimaced in distaste, " _...relations_ between the two of you. Did you really think you'd get away with it? Do you really believe you mud monkeys are any sort of a match to us?" His tone was mocking, though his smirk was barely perceptible.

Dean bristled even through the fear. "Cas isn't a mud monkey. He's one of you. Your brother."

Raphael shrugged, and the gesture looked immensely unnatural. "He was, once. But he betrayed us, and a brother he is no more. Michael was fond of him, however, and Gabriel. He has been granted mercy, despite my own misgivings. But now Gabriel is gone and Michael grows ever more distant. What makes you think he would even slightly punish me for ridding our family of a traitor of Castiel's calibre?"

"He's your _brother_ ," Dean repeated disbelievingly. "Forgiving each other is what siblings do!"

"And yet not what your brother did, when you betrayed him."

Dean's breath froze in his windpipe.

Raphael's smirk grew. "He hated you until his very last breath, you know. Samuel. Doomed from the very beginning, abomination that he was."

Dean saw red before his brain made him realise what Raphael was doing. "You're not going to make me attack you," he stated. "I'm not stupid, like you said. Forget Sam; what did Castiel ever do to you that makes it okay for you to torture and kill him?"

"He did not do it to me alone. He betrayed our entire family, and our Father, and all he represents."

"How?!" Dean demanded.

Raphael tilted his head slightly. "That," he enunciated, "is none of your concern, human."

Dean glowered at him, but said no more.

"It actually quite amuses me, how you seem to believe that a rabble of mentally-incompetent asylum patients will be able to overcome us," Raphael said, as if their exchange had not happened. "You have no resources, no intelligence...and you are highly outnumbered, not even taking into account that you evidently have no idea what you are facing."

Dean was about to protest, about to inform Raphael's smug face that they _did_ , in fact, know exactly what they were up against, and how to destroy them. Thankfully, however, he caught his mouth before it betrayed him. Raphael was openly smirking at him now, believing Dean was at a loss for words, and it was then that the realisation hit Dean.

 _He has no idea_ , he realised disbelievingly. _He has absolutely no clue that Crowley's helping us._

Holding back the grin that threatened to break over his face was almost painful.

* * *

Dean sauntered over to Charlie, Garth and Andy, who were still waiting for him by the postponed board game. Before any of them could open their mouths, Dean interrupted.

"Tell everyone," he said, voice simmering with excitement. "The escape's happening tomorrow."


	25. And So It Ends

"We're relying on _him_?!" Charlie sputtered, looking aghast.

Crowley blinked. "Always nice to know I have the trust and devotion of the people I've agreed to save," he said dryly.

Charlie ignored him. "Dean, are you insane?! That guy's about as trustworthy as a sea-snail!"

"Why, I'm touched."

They were all crammed into Dean's room: Dean, Crowley, Castiel, Charlie, Garth, Chuck and even Andy. It was a tight squeeze.

Dean sighed. "I know he doesn't seem like the most honest guy, Charlie, but he's really our only hope here. And the Balts like him even less than you do; you got nothing to worry about."

Charlie's expression told him she begged to differ, but she kept her silence.

"This is the plan," Crowley said after a short pause. "I have this," he held up a worryingly average-sized amphora. "This is holy oil. Once alight, it will hopefully kill angels."

"Hopefully?" Andy repeated.

"We're pretty sure it will."

" _And that's the best we have to go on_?" Mr Fizzles said dubiously. " _God, I'm glad I was able to sort out my Last Will and Testament last night._ " The sarcasm, even when delivered by a tatty sock, was very effective. Dean felt the morale sink even lower.

"Guys," he said, trying to sound encouraging, "come on. It's better than nothing, right?"

"I suppose," Charlie sighed. "We've put all our eggs into this basket; we may as well wait to see what hatches."

Dean sent her a relieved look.

Crowley continued. "I'll use this to set fire to the staff wing and then leg it with Ellen and all the other humans. When the orderlies get called to the emergency, you lot get out. There's a back door in the laundry room that I accidentally left unlocked this morning after my habitual stroll."

"You don't go on habitual strolls," Garth said slowly.

"Please, darling, _do_ try and keep up," Crowley sneered. "After everyone's out that needs to be, you'll all have to help me set a ring of holy fire around the building with the other jar of oil so no Balts can get out."

"How will a fire circle stop them?" Chuck asked. "It won't be more than ten centimetres high."

Crowley snapped his fingers. "Exactly! But here's the catch: any angel who steps over holy fire will die. Or so I'm told."

"Can you drop the ' _or so I'm told_ ' thing, please?" Dean snapped. "It's really not helping."

Crowley look injured. "I thought you wanted me to be honest," he said, voice wounded.

Dean glowered at him.

"This isn't the time for fighting," Castiel said, alarming everyone in the room. "We need to work together now, you can have the fist-fight when we're out."

"I agree with Cassie," Andy said loudly. "Let's just all be friends and get the hell out of here. Dean, do we have any special part to play in this master plan?"

Dean nodded. "You lot need to make sure every single patient knows about the plan, every detail. And be positive, panic at this point would be as good as a death sentence."

"Every single patient?" Charlie asked. When Dean nodded, she winced. "Gordon's gonna be a tough cookie," she said warningly. "He loves the Balts almost as much as they do themselves now. How are we going to convince him not to rat us out?"

So far they had kept Gordon out of the loop, to avoid him telling the nearest orderly about their plans. Dean had to admit, it would be difficult to even try and make him listen beyond a few words.

"We could just not tell him," Andy suggested.

"And leave him to burn?" Dean snapped.

"Don't be an idiot, Dean-o, we can pretend it's just a normal fire and he'll follow us right out. Feigning panic and fear won't be that hard," he chirped.

"He'll smell a rat," Chuck said with certainty.

Andy shrugged. "Let him. I'll keep him occupied today, how's that? He can yap on about God and Jesus and whatever for as long as he likes and he won't have time to think too hard about what we're whispering behind his back."

"It's a good idea," Charlie said.

Dean had to agree, loath as he did so. "Alright, you do that then," he said to Andy. To Crowley, "What time will you set the fire?"

"After dinner sometime," Crowley said. "We're more likely to get away at night. Eight pm?"

"Fine. Alright, everyone, off you go. If possible, we need all the patients to be in on everything by lunch." As an afterthought, he added regretfully, "Try and convince Lisa to talk to Kevin. She knows him best and he's a bit...delicate."

"Lisa doesn't like anything about this idea," Charlie said frankly. "What do we do if she refuses?"

"Talk to him yourselves." Dean shrugged. "Nothing's getting in the way of this: not Lisa, not Gordon, not bloody Michael Balt himself. We're leaving. Tonight."

His words had their desired effect, and everyone's face seemed to brighten just a little. They filed out, Crowley answering Dean's stiff nod with a mock salute.

"See you before the pyre," he quipped.

Dean wished he had the doctor's enthusiasm. Dread had formed a cold lump deep in his belly and it was all he could do to stop his hands from trembling until the door clicked shut.

Castiel, who'd stayed behind as the rest left, took Dean's shaking hands in his own. "You need to be calm," he said, voice soft. "Calm and strong."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know if I can, Cas," he admitted, voice cracking. "I don't know if I can be strong. They're right, there're too many holes in this. We're not even sure if holy oil will work!"

"It will," Castiel assured him. "I know it will."

Dean knew there was no possible way Castiel could know such a thing, but he took comfort in his words anyway. The trembling died away to nothing, but the dread stayed.

"Cas?" he called after a long silence.

"Yes, Dean?"

"This is the end, isn't it? We're gonna die."

Castiel sighed. "If only it were that easy."

Dean embraced him then, twining his arms around the man as if he were a buoy in the middle of a never-ending ocean. Castiel returned the embrace, clutching at Dean and inhaling deeply, nose buried in his shoulder.

"This could go terribly wrong," he said, "but we will all do everything in our power to make sure it does not. Afterwards, it will just be us. Just you and me floating through the world together."

Dean barely choked back a sob. He kissed Castiel desperately then, knowing well that it could be the last time he ever did so. He loved him, Dean knew it. He loved him as a friend, a brother, a saviour. Such love easily blurred into this, this desire, but Dean knew well that right now they were both desperate, lonely creatures clinging onto the last shreds of sanity they had left. Whether he could ever truly love Castiel as he deserved, only time would tell.

But time was running out.

* * *

Supper was so tense it felt as if the very walls were holding their breath. There was very little conversation apart from Andy and Gordon, who were exchanging theories on the nature of humankind.

Dean was sitting at another table with Castiel, Charlie, Garth, Chuck...all the people he loved best in this godforsaken place. It was odd: before, in Balt's, he had been nothing but a newbie, a foreign and possibly interesting face in a sea of routine. Now he was little short of a local celebrity. Patients he had barely exchanged three words with were grinning at him from across the room, nodding when he caught their stares. Even Benny, who usually avoided too much contact with others, had given him a smile and a brief hug today, thanking him warmly. He'd thanked Castiel, too, but had considerately kept his distance.

Only Lisa was still unhappy. As Dean had expected, she had vehemently refused to tell Kevin the news, choosing instead to sit in her room for the entire afternoon. Dean wished he could say she was acting like a child and in the wrong, but he couldn't help feeling guilty for uprooting the life she had built. Almost everything had been taken from her: her group leader, her best friend...and now they were heading in a direction that likely meant her son would be taken too. When Dean saw her red, tear-stained eyes as she emerged for dinner, he sighed and got up.

"Be back in a bit," he said in answer to the curious glances he got from his friends.

Lisa didn't bother to look at him as he sat opposite her, in the chair that would have been Meg's.

"Please don't do this," she whispered. "Please...if I don't see Ben again, I'll die."

Dean reached out for her hand, but thought better of it. "You need to believe me," he said. "They're planning to kill us anyway, every single one. This is the best chance you'll get of seeing Ben again, and you might be able to stay with him too. If you're pronounced mentally healthy, which doesn't seem too far-fetched to me, you can get him out of care, buy a little place somewhere with the compensation...you can be happy."

Lisa looked up at him with mournful eyes. "You could be right," she whispered, "but what if you're wrong? What if this fire doesn't work? The Balts might not all get trapped." She didn't know about the holy oil, or that the Balts were angels; all she saw was a very sketchy plan.

Dean sighed and shrugged. "Then we'll pray for a quick death."

Lisa snorted weakly. "I don't know about you, Dean, but I'm not going to be doing any praying for a long time after this. God really doesn't seem to care, does he?"

He smiled wanly, and she smiled back.

"Sorry about how I treated you," she said. "You didn't deserve it, not really."

"But I was there," Dean finished her thoughts. "It's fine, I'll get over it."

His teasing put a little more light in her eyes. "And what about you and Castiel? Are the rumours true?"

His cheeks went pink. One glance at her face, and Dean knew she'd seen.

"Can't say I didn't see it coming a mile off," she said, her humour tired. "Somehow, even when you were with me, it would always come back around to him."

Dean averted his eyes. "Sorry," he apologised lamely.

She shrugged. "Don't be. But..." she trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "Never mind," she said quickly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Go on, tell me. Although if it's more shit about Cas manipulating me, I don't wanna hear it."

Lisa shook her head. "No, I kind of regret saying that now. My mouth ran off without me. But no, what I was going to say was...does he love you, Dean?"

Dean stiffened and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Geez, I dunno," he muttered.

Lisa looked at him.

Dean gave up. "Okay, fine. Yeah. I think he does, yeah. Um." He stared hard at the table, feeling his cheeks turn bright red.

"And do you love him?"

Dean winced. "I don't know," he admitted. "He's...well, he's a guy, you know? Not really my usual type."

Lisa smirked and it was her old one, the one from before Meg's death. "We both know that 'type' stuff is a load of bullshit," she said. "I think you do."

"What?" Dean was momentarily lost.

"I think you love him," she told him. Her eyes were soft, but sad. "But I don't think you're going to realise it yourself until it's too late."

Her words were far too heavy for Dean to carry and he attempted to laugh them off, joking, "Hey, if we have it Cas' way, there won't _be_ a 'too late'. Guy's planning on us sticking together like limpets."

"Are what are you planning on?"

He bit his lip. "I'm not planning on anything," he said nonchalantly.

Lisa frowned. Her eyes widened in horror. "You don't think they'll decide you're sane, do you?" Dean stood up suddenly, but she grabbed his wrist. "You think you'll get packed off to another hospital."

Dean met her eyes angrily. "Oh, come on, Lisa, even an idiot could see I'm not totally sound in the head!"

"Have you told Castiel?"

"The guy's deluded himself. I'm not going to destroy that for him."

"Do you even _want_ to stay with him? In the real world?"

Dean stared at her in disbelief. "Of course I do," he said. "I'd stay with him forever if I could."

"You might be able to." Her eyes were sad. They didn't match her words.

"No." Dean smiled weakly at her and walked away, to where Castiel was waiting.

After they had all picked their meals to pieces, they made their way to the rec room. Andy was still occupied with Gordon and it was unnaturally quiet as Chuck shuffled the deck of cards.

"Do you guys want to play rummy?" Charlie asked Dean and Castiel.

Castiel shook his head and Dean said, "It's alright, thanks. I need to rest a bit."

"See you," she said, face grave.

Garth waved goodbye as they left.

* * *

It was quarter to eight when a loud knock echoed through Dean's room. He sprang from the bed just as the door swung open, ready to fight any orderlies that poured through it.

It was Crowley.

"Nice job on keeping the atmosphere natural, by the way, very believable," the doctor greeted him. "If you haven't been stopped yet, it's because the Balts want to play." He held up two clay amphorae. "I'm off to go do my bit. Don't lose your head, will you?"

Dean shook his head. "Just get out of there before the Balts can stop you," he said.

"Right-o." Crowley hesitated a moment. "George..." he began.

"My name's Dean."

"Dean, then. Just...don't do anything stupid, okay? And good luck." Crowley shot him a brief, awkward smile and strode away.

"Good luck to you too," Dean murmured to the emptiness.

Ten minutes later the alarms sounded. It was deafening, almost as high-pitched as the sound of Naomi's true voice had been, and Dean had to concentrate hard on not covering his ears as he ran to the rec room.

All the patients were there already, and the orderlies had run off to the site of the emergency. Dean marched up to the group.

"Everyone here?" he asked. They nodded. "Right. Let's go."

As they started towards the laundry room, Dean heard Gordon ask, "Go where?"

"We need to get out of the building before we all get burned up," Andy told him.

"The orderlies will put it out. We're not supposed to go outside unsupervised, we should wait for the orderlies to return!"

"He's going to start fighting soon," Castiel whispered in Dean's ear.

Dean had been thinking the same thing. "We need to trust Andy to keep him calm until we're out," he hissed back. "If he starts kicking up a fuss, we might have to leave him."

Castiel nodded solemnly, and Dean blinked at him in surprise.

They could smell the smoke as they got closer to the laundry room, running in the direction of the staff wing. It was pungent, acrid, and a cacophony of coughs and chokes went up among the patients.

"I'm asthmatic!" someone cried.

"Just keep pressing on!" Dean yelled back.

_Keep going. One foot in front of the other._

_Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud_

Gordon was shouting now, demanding that they all turn around and head back to the rec room. Andy tried to soothe him, but when Gordon aimed an alarmingly forceful punch at his head, Benny stepped in.

"Hey, asshole," he growled, crushing Gordon's fist in his own. "Shut up and keep walking, or I'll drag you there myself."

Gordon hit him and Benny slammed an elbow into his face, knocking him out cold.

"I can take him from here," he cheerfully told the onlookers. "He's lost a bit of weight in muscle these last few months."

Still, it was a struggle, even for Benny, with limited oxygen and a weight nearly equal to his own draped over his back. Andy grabbed Gordon's arm but his contribution didn't make much difference.

They poured into the laundry room, the thick smoke chasing all thought of order out of the patients' minds and turning them into a thoughtless rabble. Dean had to fight his way to the door.

"Oi, stand back!" he yelled, and he tugged on the handle, praying to all deities that Crowley had kept his word and not betrayed them. The handle turned and the door swung inwards. Fresh, cold air rushed in to meet them.

Dean was nearly trampled as the group raced to freedom, whooping and coughing as they went. Castiel caught him before he went down, and they were swept outside by the mob. Making their way around the hospital, Dean could see an orange glow emanating from the other side of the building, which became ever brighter the closer they came to the front. Then he could see the sparks flying metres into the sky and then finally, as they rounded the corner, he saw flame.

The holy fire looked the same as any other blaze, leaping wildly into the sky in bright orange tongues, spitting heat and sparks as they went. Half the building was ablaze after not yet ten minutes had passed, but Dean didn't give himself time to worry about Crowley's alarming talent for arson. Looking to the gates, he saw vague shadowy figures waiting for them, almost completely invisible outside the brilliance of the fire. Dean shouted hoarsely, and those who heard him made their way through the soggy, muddy garden, closely followed by those who hadn't.

As they neared the figures, Dean could make out Crowley's suited silhouette, as well as Ellen's next to him and the hunched figure of a young woman a little off to the right.

"Where're the rest of them?" he asked breathlessly as they reached the doctor.

Crowley shrugged. "They seem to believe I'm some kind of criminal trying to murder our bosses. Only Ellen would actually believe me, and Delta over there just doesn't seem to care."

"Where's the other jar?" he asked urgently, turning back to Crowley.

Crowley held it up. "It's empty, though. I already laid the oil, the only thing left now is to light it. Do you happen to have a match?"

Dean gaped at him, aghast. "You planned all this, but you didn't think to bring a fucking _lighter_?!"

"Calm down, George, I was only joking." Crowley held up his cigarette lighter. "I never go anywhere without this anyway."

" _This is not the time for kidding around_!"

"I hear you, I hear you. You have to admit, though, fire does get rather exciting."

Crowley's grin was rather too wide for Dean's taste. "Just light the fucking oil," he said. "Quick, before they –"

He was cut off by loud, blood-curdling screams.

Wheeling around, Dean felt the blood freeze in his veins. Raphael was towering over the patients, face livid and veins swelling. He flexed his shoulders and Dean's mouth fell open as two enormous shadows sprouted before him, giving Raphael's shadow two gigantic wings that spread to twice his already considerable height. The screams choked out to silence, and the patients of Balt's Psychiatric Hospital looked on in horror as Raphael turned to face Dean, as slowly and deliberately as if he were a cursed gargoyle.

"Human scum!" he roared, deafening them all and sending a few scuttling back in fright. He marched on Dean. "This is all your doing! Five of my brothers and sisters are dead and yet _you_ stand here, plotting to entrap us all! Your sins have risen far above your head, Dean Winchester, and now you shall drown on them!"

Before Dean had time to blink, the metres separating them were gone and Raphael was nose-to-nose with him. His eyes bored into Dean's and Dean thought he could see a flash of cold blue fire deep within his pupils. Then Raphael's fist clenched around his throat and he was lifted effortlessly into the air, clawing and gasping for air.

Through the ringing in his ears, Dean thought he heard Charlie shriek, but he paid it no mind. His eyes were fixed on Raphael's, unable to break away.

The archangel's next words echoed through Dean's mind as much as through the smoke-thick air.

" _I shall smite you for this._ "

He brought his hand towards Dean's forehead and Dean closed his eyes and prepared himself for the end. At Raphael's enraged scream, though, he cracked them open again and saw through the haze of fading consciousness a hand encircling Raphael's wrist, forbidding it from moving any farther.

Dean eyes caught a flash of fiery blue. It was Castiel.

"Let him go, _Brother_ ," Castiel hissed, crushing Raphael's wrist with an inhuman bout of strength. Even as Dean looked on, Castiel's eyes flashed with white light.

Astonished, Raphael dropped him and Dean tumbled to the sodden ground, choking and rolling as far as he could from Raphael. As soon as the mists over his eyes had cleared, he sat up, reeling from dizziness, and looked on in horror as Castiel, human and puny in comparison, challenged an enraged archangel to a fight.

The two circled each other in the centre of the circle formed by petrified spectators. Raphael lashed out quick as lightning for Castiel's throat, but the man was fast. He ducked, twisted and dodged until he was behind Raphael, slamming a fist into the back of his head.

The cheers that went up died almost as quickly as it became apparent that Raphael had barely felt the blow. Castiel scarcely had time to turn white before he was slammed into the dirt.

Raphael kicked him in the stomach and Castiel retched and choked, mud smearing all over his face and scrubs. Raphael grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled his face upwards.

" _This_ is not so easily forgiven, Brother," he spat in his ear. "How they will wish they had listened to me _now_ , those foolish, merciful elder brothers of mine. How will they react, I wonder, when I present your head to them on a _plate_?!"

Dean saw the flash of silver falling from Raphael's sleeve, heard his own scream ring in his ears as Raphael raised the knife to plunge through Castiel's heart.

A deafening bang sounded next to Dean's ear and Raphael's head jerked back, blood and bone and brain spraying in all directions. In disbelief, Dean turned his head to see Crowley standing steady and ashen-faced, clutching a smoking gun with two hands.

Even a bullet could not stop an archangel, however, and it took Dean not even a spilt second to know what he had to do. Scrambling upright, he sprinted to where Raphael stood, momentarily distracted as he watched his own blood pool around his shined shoes. He whirled when he heard Dean's heavy footfalls but he was already upon him, knocking him to the ground and striking the blade from his grasp. The now empty hand came up and fixed itself once more around Dean's throat, squeezing so tightly Dean thought his eyes would surely pop out of their sockets, but then Castiel had grabbed the knife and driven it with all the force he could muster into Raphael's chest.

There was an ear-piercing, horrifying whine and Raphael's eyes and mouth _poured_ light and fire and grace. Then, the noise and light were gone and it was over. Raphael's empty shell slumped underneath Dean, hand going slack and slipping to land with a thud on the ground.

There was a long, long silence.

"What are you idiots all waiting for?!" Crowley screamed. "Start _running_!"

They ran. Castiel pulled a scrambling Dean upright and grasped his hand tightly as they sprinted along the road to the faint lights of the nearest town.

There was a beating of wings overhead and a brief, swirling gale, and then Naomi was before them, sooty and singed and dishevelled. Those leading the group skidded to a stop and the ones behind them careered into them in a manner that would have been comical had all hope not just been ripped from their bodies.

Dean heard heart-rending sobs behind him and realised with a twist of his stomach that it was Lisa.

Naomi opened her mouth. "Be calm," she said. "I have no interest in stopping you. This game has gone on long enough; Michael is bored and Raphael is gone. You humans, though you have murdered my brothers and sisters, are free to go. We will not hunt you and we will not harm you. I will not apologise for the work we have done under our Father's name, but I can tell you this: you will all be repaid thrice-over for your earthly suffering. All sins have been burned away."

No one spoke, not daring to believe it.

Naomi's lips quirked up slightly at the corners, a human gesture of wry amusement. "Run now," she said. "Run to the town, and find help. But leave me Castiel. I have work to complete."

Dean felt his heart stop in his chest.

There was a muttering, and shuffling, and then a few patients broke away from the group, swerving around Naomi and bolting for the lights. She didn't raise a finger to stop them, and they were soon followed by others, more and more, until the only ones who were left were Castiel, Dean, Charlie, Garth, Chuck and Crowley.

Naomi regarded them curiously. "Why do you not run?" she asked.

"We ain't leaving Cas," Dean told her harshly. "Never." He clutched Castiel's hand desperately in his own.

"Then bear witness," Naomi said. She took a step towards them.

They skittered back, all except Dean and Castiel, who stood their ground determinedly. Dean stepped in front of his friend, ignoring Castiel's urgent protests.

"You're not gonna hurt him ever again," Dean warned Naomi, voice rasping and angry.

"I have no wish to do so," Naomi said. "I merely wish to give my brother his full power once again, as Michael wished when his sentence was served." She vanished then, and Dean barely had time to turn around before she was touching two fingers to Castiel's forehead.

Castiel's eyes exploded with light and the onlookers screamed in horror. It faded, and Dean almost collapsed with relief when he saw Castiel still standing and his wide eyes still in his skull.

Dean's eyes caught a movement on the ground and he gasped as he saw Castiel's shadow, dancing in the light of the burning building, spreading its wings to touch the edges of the night.

"And so it is done," Naomi said quietly. She was gone.

They stood there, all of them, white-faced and wide-eyed, motionless as the fire raged behind them. Castiel's face was blank, almost empty. Dean took a shaky step towards him.

"Cas?" he called croakily. "Cas, you still with me?"

Castiel blinked and slowly turned to look at him. "I have always been here, long before the creation of the Earth. I will remain until long after it is gone." He blinked again, and Dean saw his Castiel suddenly return to this otherworldly creature before him. "It is strange, to suddenly remember so much when before you remembered nothing at all."

Dean choked out a laugh and hugged him, feeling the others' arms wrapping around them both a moment later.

For a moment – one moment, after a year of agony and insanity – Dean felt happy.

* * *

Dean sat, alone, in a small white room, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

 _I knew it_ , he told himself. _I fucking knew it all along._

The words the psychiatrist had said to him still rang in his brain.

" _Sorry, Mr Winchester, but you've been reallocated. You'll be transported to the hospital in Virginia tomorrow."_

He was going to another asylum, just like he'd expected.

Castiel had been positive, before Dean had walked through those doors.

" _It will be fine_ ," he'd said excitedly. " _You'll see._ "

Dean swallowed a sob and put his face in his hands.

A flutter of wings behind him.

"Dean?"

He turned. Castiel was there, blue eyes wide and upset. He couldn't hold their gaze.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Tears stung at the backs of his eyes.

Castiel crumpled to kneel before him, taking Dean's face in his hands and kissing him long and hard, pulling at Dean's hair until it hurt. When they separated, Dean was shocked to see the first tears in the angel's eyes since he had regained his grace.

"I love you," Castiel told him fervently, and Dean's heart crumbled inside him. "I love you more than this world, my world, my siblings, my _Father_. That will not change. And for however long, wherever you are, know that I will be watching over you."

Dean nodded, and the movement sent the tears cascading down his cheeks.

* * *

Dean walked up the driveway beside the guard and was struck by a strong wave of déjà vu. There was only one figure waiting for him at the door to the hospital this time, however: a man on the wrong side of middle-aged. He had a smile almost as wide as his face.

"Dean Winchester?" he asked as they neared, grin never wavering.

The guard muttered a farewell and un-cuffed Dean, giving him a sympathetic clap on the shoulder. He was a nice guy, Dean thought vaguely, as far as he could tell from their few hours' conversation.

"Nice to have you here," the man in then white coat greeted. "I'm Doctor Vesania, but that's a terrible mouthful. You can call me Azazel. We've been waiting for you for a very long time."

Dean nodded listlessly and stepped through the door the grinning man was holding open for him. As he passed, he could have sworn that, just for a second, Azazel's eyes flashed an opaque, pus-like yellow.

The door swung shut behind him.


End file.
